I sit in the twilight, the warm breeze caressing my neck.
Soft warm heavy breath flows out, inhaling I smell the summer rain and delicate blossoms that make me reluctant to go inside and say goodbye to this day.
My belly fills and falls, an ever-present rhythm that is infinitely reassuring in its steady pulse.
An extra deep breath and then nothing – I stop, holding the air inside me.
Pressure in my lungs. A slow dying.
How long can I wait in that infinite moment?
I am curious about it, this space between breaths. It holds a strange allure, as though I can touch eternity if only I can figure out how to stay there.
Once more a soft, relaxed body. And here I am, in it.
It breathes, this body. It lives.
Pulsing streams of life tingle through me, a million nerve-endings remind me that it’s alive, that it feels, that it needs, that it wants.
It wants to live. And here I am, living in it.
We’re old friends now, this body and I. We struggle sometimes, but mostly we get on just fine.
Mutual respect, that’s what feeds this relationship.
And spending time together. Quality time. She wants me to feel her, this body. Her aching, her longing, her fury, her desire, her frustration, her passion, her joy.
Listen to my opinions, she requests. Nobly.
She’s not begging.
She knows how to make me listen when I won’t. If I get stuck in my head and forget her for too long.
When I make shitty decisions – she’s always there reminding me when I fail myself. She fucking loves me big time.
Which is remarkable given the way I’ve treated her in the past.
But we’ve worked through all that. Done the time. Wept, laughed, loved each other again in all our scarred, bumpy realness.
Sometimes I think we’ve nailed it; got the lines of communication so wide open that she’ll never need to yell again.
And then I make a mistake and don’t listen, and boy can she fucking yell.
So much pain.
She’s got a strong character but I love her for it. I’m happy to have her on my side on this crazy ride in time and space.
She’s a good friend. She serves me well.
And I like to think, in some ways, on some days, that I serve her as well.
In breath, out breath.
Sometimes that’s all. And it’s a sweet, sweet being together.
Yes, we get along just fine, me and this body of mine.