Smiling

I want to be able to smile the same way I used to cry. I remember being younger and crying for hours. I remember praying, hoping, hurting, loving, wanting, and being desperate. I remember dreaming. I remember taking walks at midnight with my dog and talking to him about the way the moon looked over the brook by the willow tree. Then he took you with us, and I showed you the moon, too. I remember making love to you on the kitchen table while my mother slept upstairs. I remember sitting on top of the electrical box outside my house and sobbing uncontrolably because my world was falling apart around me. I remember falling in love with you.

I haven’t thought of that willow tree in a long time. It used to give me peace on some of my darkest nights. Then you slowly became a part of that peace. I almost cried last night. You told me not to. I wanted to cry because I let myself forget how to love. I can’t betray emotions I don’t let myself have. I got so caught up in sex and talk. I need to cry because when I do it reminds me of how beautiful you are. It reminds me of that night, the way you looked at me, and most of all, the way you understood.

Someday, it will be just us. No dogs, no brothers, no needy mothers, no sisters, kids, roomates, guilt, no talking. Someday we’ll have our own kitchen table.

I will cry, I will sob uncontrolably, and I won’t say a word. And then I will smile.