Just Beneath the Surface

There are weeks that go by without notice. Months. And then a rush of emotion, swells that rival the waves offshore Cape Cod. I consumed an entire novel in 2 days, and the sadness is as pervasive as if I'd lived it myself. And my friends wonder why it is that I don't read the newspaper, why I don't turn on the television, why my only source of news is an article from yahoo picked up here and there online. My breath comes in shallow tide pools and I cannot stop my fingers from pressing against my lips as if they might spill forth secrets.

I don't ask for much. The novel I read chronicled the life of a woman divorced, then widowed, then left at the altar, all before the age of 30. She didn't ask for any of it either.

The channels of the heart are long and deep. Resilient. Once I believed that if you gave away a piece of your heart, you never got it back, as if it dissipated with the feelings once held. What I've learned is that it's even worse when he gives it back to you, as if to say no thank you.

What I also have learned is that the smallest things are often the most important. The way he walked out of the dim restaurant into bright sunlight, nervous and unsure, but knowing....knowing...he had to see her again. The way she always finds a way to touch him, fingers lightly brushing up against his arm, resting on the nape of his neck when he drives, the need to feel connected to another human being.

And whether or not they say the words...