And of all the stupid things, I start to think: Would it be so bad?
Couldn’t I see myself spending a lifetime here? With the sun on my skin and sand on my arms from summer days spent in the water, on the beach?
And what if it was easy? What if we never cared what anybody thought, or anybody said, and we built a lifetime where we both relaxed into simply knowing we belonged there?
I wonder – would you still come for me, O Prince of Travelers? Would I still hear your voice in the eastbound wind, whispering of autumn leaves and winter snows, and mountains I have yet to stand in the shadows of; and what would you think, if he came with me? What could it mean, to stand hand in hand with a person who’s soul seems as restless as my own, walking for miles in each others’ dreams?
Is that what happiness could look like, for me? Is that what I was asking for, when I told you I wanted everything?
And what am I to do – I, who set aside so much hope and so many dreams, for all these long and winding years?
Slowly, slowly – with such tremulous tension – my curiosity is unfurling. And I listen as the knots in my heart tighten and relax; tighten and relax. With every pulse comes another quiet surrender; another mask revealed; another piece of armor set aside.
Maybe it will end soon, and the wind will start to call my name; and I will pick up the pieces of my life and find a different corner of the world to call home.
But maybe staying here wouldn’t be so bad.