Weep

He is not waiting, he is relieving his hours in week-at-a-time bursts. Nothing this week and then Sunday – a ray of light.

An email.

“You are and need, all my space. And from you I am learning to need nothing. But it takes all my strength to widen. This is not the time to grieve but weep that love’s fortune sets you more and more free, the better to hold you when every cell beckons you back.

And hold you then.

And everything.”

He sits to grieve in a wide armed chair. Its sides press rigidly, and cold to touch.