Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda (Reprise)
So my brother called this weekend, and things somehow seem better. Can I submit as evidence for his maturity that he repeated to me the advice I have so often given him? Things have improved at home, and my mother may or may not still be angry at me, but I’ve renewed my commitment to let the mess of the past go, as I so often enjoined my brother to do. That was the advice, see. Who was it who remarked that good advice will come back to haunt you when you expect it least and need it most?
So that’s out of the way. In other news, the Significant Other (better terminology hopefully forthcoming) went down to see our friends’ new house. It is a beautifully proportioned, lovely home. I’m very happy for them. It got us (S.O. and I) to talking about our own plans for the future, residential and otherwise. These things surface quietly, in the darkness, so they can occupy the tenuous space between binding and separation without ever fully being assigned to one. The same impulses that attract us to each other may sunder us; I could have sworn there was a sadness between us before we finally fell asleep.
I write these things down because I want to remember them; I want to remember truths as they were revealed; I want to fling into eternity those moments of surpassing tenderness so that, Tralfamadorian-like, I may revisit them later, to step back into that self and that moment, to remember that there are real lovers in time.
