You are a word in a sacred text. I hold the book carefully, afraid the pages will fall apart. I read you all the time. I still find the time.
I look at the time we spent together and in your world it’s not too long. Almost enough. But not enough. Barely meeting the bare minimum. Didn’t quite cut it.
In my world, in crip time, it’s the moment that counts. And it’s twice the time. It’s the time it takes for me to cross over to where you’re standing. It’s the moment I see your face in the mirror and I know I can see you- my eyesight is still here. Another double moment. It’s asking for the aisle seat on the plane, so I can make sure my legs work by the time I get to you. It’s that extra shot of B12 in the morning so I can stay awake for dinner.
I add all these moments together and the sum is enough to make two. The moments are always all I have, and I may be demanding, but I have never been greedy. I count my blessings and knowing (and losing) you adds to my life’s narrative. Double moment. A two. Climatic.
But in this moment, in this now, it’s anti-climatic. Losing you is a moment that lengthens time- what was it Bishop says? “The art of losing isn’t hard to master.”
She was right.
It just makes the two a half.
