The Time Traveller’s Future Husband

lost years

I haven’t slept that well in weeks, no, months. Years maybe.

Do you remember the first time I said I love you when I wasn’t sleeping? We were in bed snuggling. I was afraid I wouldn’t get another chance to tell you.

After I left my old neighbourhood, I was overconfident. Like, I can’t explain it. My mind was a little idk lost in a fantasy.

I was so sure that I had found my soulmate and that nothing could get in the way of us being together.

I actually told my sister that love would just fall out of the sky. And the joke at the time was that I really thought it was true. That I believed in magic and I was going to be able to bring magic to everyone I love.

When I’m in love, I’m a little wild.

So, for three summers, I spent each spare moment at the beach. Why? Fucked if I know. Not on a conscious level.

But somewhere deep inside I knew that I would find love at the beach. Even though I had a feeling that my true love wasn’t from here.

The biggest problem I could imagine was figuring out what beach. There are three public beaches in town that I can get to on public transit.

I would meditate on a rock with the word love etched into it by the water I could walk to, lay on the dock at the beach where people weigh their catch once a year, and feed the geese near a beach which isn’t really a beach by the dump.

I tried everywhere I could get to. And you never came for me. You didn’t come to find me. We didn’t run into each other and pretend it wasn’t something we’d both dreamed of and known was going to happen.

When I saw that moment, I saw it happening in my new neighbourhood. The physical place I now call home.

In the mean time, I kept taking weekend trips to my old neighbourhood. But I was afraid to go back to certain places. In case I would run into someone and see that my prayers for him had come true. And I would know for sure that any pull back there was an exercise in karma resolution. In the way I’ve experienced it in the past. But also, I worried that he would be mean to me in a way that he never had been.

By the third summer, I was a little depressed. The only thing that got me out of the house some days was the belief that I would find love at the beach.

I thought my future husband was going to meet me here. At the beach.

See, when I left, I thought my future husband knew where I lived. Because I couldn’t see who my future husband was and I didn’t give him my forwarding address.

Fast forward to this year.

My friend Mel is one of the most openhearted, loving, giving, honest people I’ve known.

I told her about you. Yes, you.

And do you know what she said with her eyes after I showed her a photo of you?

She thought, oh God, he’s so out of your league.

And I thought, I know, but I love him.

Because she loves me, she never said I couldn’t do it. She thought, okay, how can we make this work?

One day, if my heart is right this time, you’ll meet her.

That’s when I knew without a doubt it was you. You. The man who I saw as way out of my league. The man I believed wouldn’t care if I had to go.

It was really difficult for me to wrap my mind around.

But there’s been a lot going on. So, I forgive myself. I needed to forgive myself. And there was never anything to forgive you for. Even if you feel there was. You did nothing wrong. You did everything right.

I was scared. If you had done anything different, I would have just run sooner. I’d never met anyone with a brain like yours and a heart like mine. I didn’t feel ready when I saw you. Your face killed me in a good way.

And I wanted to follow my heart. I just couldn’t hear her very well back then. Plus, she tumbles ahead to the end of the story without paying attention to details, like budgets and what steps we need to take to get there.

I’ve accomplished getting fat and growing a beard.

You’re the one. You’re the one who lit my dreams.

I travelled back from the future to tell you that you need to quit smoking.

Because that was a dream, right? Not a vision of something that has happened.

Do you know how impossible it is to fly when the place where our wings come from is filled with sorrow?

I want to make you smile. I want to make you laugh.

I want to take care of your heart the way I wasn’t able to before. No excuses. I fucked up. I hope you’ll forgive me.

I love you.

Didn’t I promise not to call you my future husband when we first met?

You’re the man who trusted me to come back. Do you know how important that is to my heart?

I don’t want to stop telling this story.

POSTCARDS FROM HELL: phone ripped out of the wall

story 6

I can’t feel you from down here
my thoughts turn to your face
and i know sometimes you’re knocking
but the air is thick in her
steel walls reinforced
scramblers jammers
not even a hammer will bring me to you in this state
locked in this room
wrestling my fears at night
where i hear you best
talking to people about my fate
right? did i get it right?
not another one who knows better
not another sent like David
to drop me from great heights
my bones can’t take it
not tonight
maybe i’ll be able tomorrow
i can’t feel you
you’re so far away now
i don’t know what to do
but cry
don’t leave if you’re angry
sit under the tree out there
take some time
i will find my way out
your love
it showed me i do feel worthy
of being loved
and if you decide to leave
kiss me first
kiss me slow one last time

clearing a metal detector

for Hope

I want a man who is good with his hands. One who knows how to make a clean mortise and tenon joint.

I want a man who isn’t afraid to get dirt under his nails. Not like Tony Soprano, but like the women who bust into a motel room on the highway to extract children in trouble.

I want a man who isn’t afraid of his heart, and of falling to his knees on the solid rock of mother earth in the Canadian Shield.

There is a way to fashion the things we’ve learned into false armour around our skin, and I want a man who knows this but never fully felt safe within those structures.

I want a man who has fallen on his face and doesn’t flinch when I cup his chin in my hands, kiss his eyelids.

Or, if he’s still bleeding, I want a man who chooses to flinch openly and to trust me to hear him, trust that in his fearful moments I would never purposefully hurt him.

Even if it’s terrifying and takes a few tries.

I want a man who can lift me off the cross when I climb back up there, knowing it’s habit and not my conscious choice anymore.

Knowing that when I sleepwalk up there, I need help getting down and am sometimes too afraid to ask.

I want someone who chooses real above all else on this plane of dualities, this half-hell, this dreaded desert that never becomes green when we walk alone.

Someone who can help me care for my soul.

And there’s a part of me some days that feels I deserve this. This miracle just for me. But that part is too easily crushed when I think I’ve recognized one who can, one who wants to, only to find out it wasn’t real.

Seems that the real ones only come around when I’m crushed. Pinned. In distress – having answered the call to rescue, not having any idea that it terrifies me, or why.

But maybe the real ones have also come on the bad days, and were only able to see the back of me as I tested the pillar.

I can’t know. I can only choose to trust that my expectations and my desires have not been completely marred by the fairytales with true love endings.