CATCHING BUBBLES

I.

You hold it gently

A small bubble of disappointment

Observing it

Careful not to break its skin

“It’s gone.”

You explain quickly,

“The surprise. When I think of you,

Or see your face,

The surprise at how much I love you—

It’s gone. 

I’m not surprised anymore.”

You touch me, gently,

Holding me,

Careful not to break my skin. 

Moments later, 

You glance at me, 

While you are rising up, buoyant, 

Mid step and mid thought,

Your lips, formed around an ephemeral O,

break into a smile.

Your words burst through

The delight on your face.

“It’s still there!”

II.

Those moments of surprise,

Transcendent and shining,

Are rare.

Sometimes when the morning light

Catches us blinking awake

I see you

And I love

I love

I love

the way I love you

I try to hold each moment

like trying to hold my breath

The feeling of inhaling

And drawing in more love

Than my lungs can hold

Than my heart can hold

I cherish you for as long as I can

And then let go

Before cherishing you again

III.

The last few months have not been gentle.

The world seems to always try to find

New ways to break the skin.

The light is outside,

While we shelter apart.

I wonder how I will surprise you,

When most days you can’t even see me.

And when I do see you, we are both spent.

I try to hold you 

and my disappointment 

gently.

I observe it.

Try not to think about the roses I haven’t given you,

Or the dinners we haven’t been to, 

Or the times we haven’t flirted,

The spas we haven’t visited,

The small gestures we haven’t made.

“It’s gone.”

I explain.

I cannot even touch you. 

And then—

then!—

you surprise me.

You tell me about the stories we’ve woven together

The patterns we’ve built

And the experiences we’ve had

Still have

Will have

We’re still here!

​

And I see you

Haloed in fractal rainbows

Shining and ephemeral and rare

And I realize in one blinking moment

That I love you

I love you

I love you