GOOD NIGHT, BEAUTIFUL BOY

by Lisa

I compose love letters in my heart all day long.  I love very, very much.  Maybe he hears the love, like a dog hears a soundless whistle, as we exist seven blocks from one another.

 

I do not talk to him on the phone. We have frugality to thank for that, I tell myself, and limited minutes on our cell plans, and little time really alone to say things in the tone of voice that the words deserve.  Instead, he reads my love a few characters at a time.  He makes words his life’s business, and he sculpts full-blown people and places and emotions from the words that I can only use to call the sky blue.  With my simple words and his powerful ones, we’re settled now–if six months or a year can be called settled–into patterns passed between us in adherence to an unwritten but essential schedule.

Sometimes, a few words, correctly timed and punctuated, change a whole day.  To linger out loud over goodnightbeautifulboy might lessen its power.  So, he gets good (oh, I want all of the best things for you, you lovely person, darling precious appreciated adored cherished deserving you)–night (such a long day, and I am so glad that we saw one another, wish we had seen one another, know I’ll dream of you if I’m living right, imagine what the day would have been if we had spent the whole thing as Us together in the world and not just in our thoughts, what will it be like to watch sleep come over you when your bed my bed becomes our bed)–beautiful (dizzyingly most handsome creature, unaware of your charm your grace your charisma because it is of the most delicate ethereal rare kind)–boy (when I look at you I see you at three, thirteen, twenty-three, eighty-three, my boy in the shape of a full-grown gorgeous tall lean lanky kind of man who will never not be my sweet boy)…

 

My love letters take little time to read, but in between the words there exists a space hopefully filled with one wet thundery spring, one  ovenish summer, and the beginning of an autumn of smiles and smoldering, and of interlaced fingers and tenderness and awe at the good fortune of having stumbled upon this jewel of a man, my beautiful boy, my love.

 

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