[Fall]ing

The living room of my grandparents house is lit with early evening sun. Its 80 degrees, but the humidity is low, leaving it warm and comfortable with the breeze. From where I sit, I can hear kids laughing and shouting on the playground across the street. It is a lovely September day, and I can only think of a few things that could make late summer evenings better.

It is the beginning of harvest time, and along my way to work and into town every day, there are tractors parked in the fields, filled to the brim with soybeans and corn. The leaves are just beginning to lighten noticeably into yellows in reds, and occasional gusty winds are beginning to rob the trees of their foliage.

Driving home on this particular evening, I realized that when it comes to thoughts of him, they are becoming as frequent and as necessary as breathing. Living in a town where there is nothing to remind me of him, where we have no memories, leaves me feeling a bit disoriented. There are pictures of him in my room, and I sleep with the blankets we bought on Pikes Peak. In the cooler fall mornings and evenings, I wear his flannel shirt. In my wallet I keep our ticket stub from the penny arcade in Manitou Springs. And I am almost ceaselessly listening to the music he loves, while my mind wanders to Afghanistan, and I pray ceaselessly for his safe return. Our few weeks in Colorado seem little more than a dream, and that dream is what I am living for.

Its not that I am not engaging in the reality that I live in, but the greater part of my heart is usually wrapped up in this nearly non-existent relationship, this love that most days just seems like a figment of my imagination. In the past 38 days I have received 3 brief Facebook messages, and heard his voice once. It is never enough. I think daily of how wonderful it will be to be waiting for him at the Bangor International Airport when he comes home, to hold him and be kissed by him, to hear his voice. And I never think of the end of that 2 weeks, because it signals the unfortunate end of yet another good dream.

"I'm right here and I must admit I've been pining for you. You're my wish...I just hope when I cast my spell you'll be falling for me. Because falling in love could be the first thing. Falling in love could be the worst thing. Falling in love, there is no rehearsing; retarded in love."