Come as you are
Come, as you are, as you were, as I want you to be, since its fall again. We used to plan something every fall. Last two weeks of November. Either somewhere where the leaves fall or a place where we could take our time enjoying a silent scenery. She was the one who liked foliage, so she would push all the plans towards trees, somewhere with long trees and the rich red. That’s what she liked. Fiery red. Last November we spent together was a hotel in West Virginia. I happen to be in a conference in that hotel which was a couple of hours away from Monongahela forest. First day, on Wednesday I had to stay at the hotel, she went for a walk alone and second day she asked to have me all to herself so I surrendered or a storm was imminent. She said she has a spot for us. She asked the hotel’s housekeeper to fill up our thermos, put her favorite tea and her tarp in my backpack and we bought recyclable cups on our way from a Seven-Eleven. She also got us two Mars chocolates. We had to hike three hours on a trail to get to that very spot. She knew where we’re headed. Then at some point unwarrantedly she stopped behind a rock, slightly bent back with her hand on her hips and climbed up the rock in two steps, I followed. On top of the rock she laid the tarp and we sat on it in silence. We were on a hill. View in front of us was another hill, we sat down she poured me a cup and one for herself. It looks like fire she said. I did not respond because it was fire, yellow, orange and red. Oxygen was moist, smelled of soil. We were both thirty-eight. We kissed. We loved each other. In the fall. Every fall.