He was my sun for that week.
I was caught in his unforgiving orbit; going to the store, doing my laundry, ignoring phone messages from my boss asking careful questions as to when I thought I'd be up to coming back into the office, measuring out my life on a check-list of things I could do in the moments between seeing him.
There is a yogic term for the pause between breaths, and there is a meditation that focuses on that space.
Space.
A few notes written under the dome in the library, a trip to the supermarket without saying a single word to anyone, looking in a shop window at jewellery I would never wear, waiting too long to eat between meals.
Space.
What were those pauses called between seeing him?
In many ways I was closer to the stars than the object of my uncontrollable fancy, the whole time. I knew it, but but cherished the possibility that maybe I could. Maybe I could.
It's like knowing when spam arrives in your in-box. Even though you've been waiting for an email to arrive all day, even though the sound of real mail arriving is exactly the same as junk, you know in your heart that the noise you hear when the mail arrives is not the one you've been waiting for.
