manifesto.

you wouldn’t be able to guess it, the way i’ve come to treat her.  to guess that i feel i’ve hit the jackpot.  that four years of life with her have passed like the wind and i was unaware of its beauty, only the chill of having to live in foreign lands.  i know she wants my happiness but, like anyone else, she wants me to will it.  i know she is the exact opposite of manipulation and daggered words.  that her silence in the face of hurt is a manifesto to study and practice. 

i am shocked when i turn and see her wet face in this al-anon meeting.  the tears are for her father.  the tears are welling up from another era, an era of bloated stomach, stashed liquor bottles, imminent divorce papers, an era when i didn’t know her.  i am in love with her in a different way than i was before.  when she cries, she means it.  there is no agenda.  her emotions, normally held in reserve, are raw and elegant.  a manifesto to study and practice.

i love this saturday morning.  my fingers on the valley of her back, bare and exposed to the light, her nakedness intoxicating.  a tattoo will never mark her body because it stands by itself as its own art.  there’s a story on her skin and i’m reading it.  my favorite novel, i never tire of reading this.  and i silently pray away all of my fears and pray for us, for you to keep living your manifesto and for me, to change mine.