working title: " the drops, on the rock" passages from hope's diary
shelter island, ny - aka the rock, 1943
hi. hi. hi.
LISTEN: Audio Version.
it was the hair on your thigh that brushed up against the back of my left hip. i reached back, you weren't there, but the spot was very warm to my hand, like you left your body-heat behind. oh my god, peace please. i closed my eyes and told you to come home...i have had enough and want you back.
and then somehow the dream continued...
rolling over and feeling resistance from the back of my skull, this is common. your clutched fist had my hair in it—a ritual that has become an endearing habit—you stroke me in the middle of the night. and hearing you whisper sleepy sleepy, a deepening comfort into a peaceful dream state. this treasure, i do not take for granted. a feeling so healing for each another and so hard for most to understand—like they couldn't be bothered. to me and you, so sacred—an intimacy with hearts touching—keeps our fire going. these actions are like well seasoned dried logs feeding and nurturing our loving natures. the knowingness that our two pairs of hands make love from deep caring thoughts fills me with a strength i will express when i see you next. and something i hope in your heart you know.
gently turning, kissing your inner forearm, releases my lock from your grip, a few long strands still entangled in your fingers. placing your warm hand on my chest until i catch your cheeks lift a semi-conscious smile casting a pleasantly surprised expression, still with your eyelashes laced together. i like watching you gravitate to my side the moment i roll out of bed. i have yet to figure that out. it's like a magnet. perhaps knowing i will return to you with more good morning wakeup; a ritual of rubbing your arms and legs or is it my good strong cup of my coffee mug in my hands. hmm?.
i shut the pair of windows as a damp breeze has filled the room. your feet are sticking out. i cover them with your starquilt which has fallen to the floor.
i woke up suddenly to the thought, i must go re-cover you in the studio before roy and clark arrive. i dashed downstairs and see the photograph of you playing baseball is tilted on the wall. and a deep feeling of fear-change filled me. hmm. i almost tripped down the stairs. that change startled me. i didn't expect to see that. it's been in the same place for so long. hmm. embracing change is walking that fineline. i am grasping onto what i know, which feels comforting, what i feel, because my body tells me so and standing in the future of our plans for everything - all at the sametime. this pushed a button: questioning my sense of our security in my mind-playing tricks on me. we are rock solid. i repeat to myself.
i moved the rock to hold open the studio door with my barefoot, and felt a strong urge to flip it over. A HEART. gulp. i sat on the floor, holding your rock in my lap watching water stains create spots on the surface. thank you cookieface, your timing is perfect. this was a blessing. to feel your heat and to live this moment filled me with safety. i am tempted to bring it to the house, but i will leave it here. and i love you.
i am writing this on the sideporch. it is damp outside today. unexpected, but it will burn off, i think. i saw a dragonfly. grandpa told me they bring wind. so, new air will follow.
i will write more later... roy and clark just arrived.
angel, you are in my thoughts. from my lips to yours. please mary and jesus, help him feel me and hear my voice. peace. ... i must run to town this morning, i need new type ribbon, i hope they have it. more soon...
or i will have to borrow from mona, she has a cousin that has sent her some from new york. i don't ask. i just stay in our safehaven as if rationing is not a part of my existence. i have everything i need. and making sure our elderly are looked after is my priority. please, just come home.
it's wash day and for the first time i am using soap mona made—this should be interesting, she swears by it, an ancient recipe from her family. her kitchen smells beautiful. she has been crushing lavender. i told her my whites better not turn blue. i will test a few things, just to make sure. and yes, i am still washing your pants and shirts. the line will be a sea of dark blue dungarees flanking white munsingwear, and white linens.
to be continued.
i love you, please dear lord, i hope you hear me. thank you for the heart rock, this means so much to me. these are nuggets of light in my day. and your picture is still living in my pocket. i am looking at it as i write. there is a god.