Not a single regret.
It was only a month. Day one, when we met so haphazardly, unintended and feeling our way through each day, toward each other, walking next to, lying beside, inside me and my heart then. I feel now, day 30, your body going away, in flight above me. I sense for good.
Memories only now; All Good, you say. Me fighting the old urge to read this as dismissive, a closing of a door and instead, a wiser and kinder me, caretaking of late, saying to myself “Really, truly, all was good and will be.” A series of perfect days. Nine only, spent in your presence. All the rest prelude, now postlude. Even the tears at the end, as you said to me that you weren’t ready and couldn’t say when. This new landscape, bombs dropping, scorched-earth appearing before my eyes, the sound of my heart breaking.
Of course, this was not the deal. A previous fortnight of texts and phone calls and tentative exuberance, which prompted him, he said, to go out on a limb and ask if he could spend more time with me on his way to his new home far south, the other side of the earth. One-way ticket with a stop over for me; four days planned at first, all hope and greed, turned to seven in the final toll. We both said no strings. I will have no regrets I told my heart, ever. My life’s vow to myself: never to live with regrets; whatever choices I was allotted, to consider them fully; never to play it safe or careful. Fuck it…no regrets, only lessons I know somehow that need to be learned, yes. Fearlessness, for one of late, and extracting all the joy that could be had from the present- now and now and again now.
Like a good Buddhist, I contemplated the decision before signing on: asking myself, on day eight, or sometime in my soon to be old age, on my deathbed- the question: would I regret saying no to this possibility? My full-throated and clear yes in reply. Sir, you may go out on a limb, and I will join you there wholeheartedly. My blues man then, I ask of you: for you to feed me, to slow dance with me held close, to lay me down gently. This last request, if the end is to be marked, to lay me down gently in another way.
Easy for me to say to myself at the beginning; to plan to have no regrets, away with strings! All wished from a place before, only with anticipation, hopefulness, infinite chances with no space built or acknowledgment of any hurt or tears that might come. Placing that dark possibility somewhere small and shut off in my heart, not needing it at this beginning. In denial so forcefully, so as to be fully present, awake, alert, oriented to the joy, hoped for and which arrived so easily, effortlessly. Soaking up each warm moment, the sights and sounds and touch. Closing my eyes to inhale fully the sweetness of it all, filling me with what I didn’t even know I needed, what was possible, soul-satisfied again and again in this brief dream.
Awakening though in these last few days together, eyes fluttering open to see, hearing words from you that I did not think would be said. Delineating an end, an impossibility. Ha! Universe newly kind to then turn so cruel.
We had each written a haiku for the other. His first to me, capturing in seventeen heartbeats our initial coming together, “doors that opened”, he wrote. Then my ode to him, to us, in the waiting for his second arriving the next week, more days together. “Adagio“ – seventeen beats of my own heart, written in anticipation: “Seven suns rising, wishing for speed, for seven more, sir, to go slow.“ Haiku so hopeful, so innocent and it’s wishing, not knowing, not even caring to know what result, the endgame, the exit strategy.
Day six together and the other shoe falling; an impossibility I cannot dodge now, from which I had shielded my eyes, rightly or wrongly. Surreal, slow motion awakening to the end of days. Tears, hard dry throat, hands to cover my face. He placed his hand gently on my turned shoulder, me wishing to crawl out of my own skin, my blues man appearing anew on this allotted day as a cold gray wind moved in. I feel the thing arrive now, what I had wished for, too much now, the slowing of time. How the second hand hangs heavy through each minute of sadness, so painfully slow. But there it is, no escape and legs unable to move. Wishing for sleep, to fade to black, but knowing I will awaken again and have to feel it arrive, like unwanted news. And the small shrouded voice in my head; Dear One, remember the deal- no regrets, no strings, this is what you signed up for. But not the pain, my heart pleads. And when I said I wanted him to lay me down gently, ha! Thinking that the wished-for ease at our end, guaranteed by his kind ways and attentiveness to my tears, caused by him, would make it easier. Really though a result of each of us, all of our previous days, the ticking clock, gravity, stars already aligned, everything. That being let down easily would be the best ending and the fucking paradox of that I see now; to be set aside by a man so kind, so wished for, that he stays with me until the end.