Leather and Lace

From deep within the confusion of a misunderstood isolation sprang an unexpected oasis of clarity, a glimmer of a future forged in the furnace of a friendship born in the before time.  The time before this suffocating quarantine blanketed a budding reconnection.  The time before a sea of masquerading strangers somehow became the responsible norm, parading by in socially distanced regularity to redefine the paradigm of this novel inconvenience.

She asked unexpectedly; I answered without reservation.  In the briefest blink of an overdue text finally sent, the hope of possibility landed hard in the midst of another strange week, here in this unpredictably disordered City of Wayne.

It was a week full of unexpectedly cascading change.  It was a thirty hour window filled with flirting and death, regret and final accountability.  The churning emotions stubbornly caught the waves of a different infection starting to rage and spin, leaving me to roll around as I found myself caught inexplicably in the grip of this newest flood, desperately waiting for something to stick and catch hold.

And I wonder if she will stick.

And I wonder if she will hold.  Hold not just for the passing cough of a responsible quarantine’s finality, but tighter and far longer, into a happier day’s first kiss, just ahead.

From the dark depths of those  chaotic eventualities sprang a new light of possibility and I have little choice left but to believe- to believe in her.  Believe in the brightness of her heart.  Believe in the symbiotic expressions of a mutually shared experience.

Bonded together by a commonality of history, left tainted and jagged by abusive intent and unwarranted rejections, we are both built upon a similar foundation. Just two flawed, and deeply wounded souls refusing the definition of that beginning so unjustified in its brutality, and instead stubbornly seeking out the more spirited promises filled by a more meaningfully lasting touch.

Because there is still very much left in which to believe.

There is always the chance of changing a tomorrow not yet on the scene, despite all the cautionary tales distributed by doubting friends and the barrage of terror-filled political predictions raining constantly down.

In spite of the current infections of inaccurate accusations constantly cast upon my more honest definition, I must hold firm in my more noble intent.  Regardless of the impediments and hesitations, I must stay true to the course of riding these unprecedented currents of a world changing until I find that safer shore.   And that friendship growing, deeper and more durable with every passing isolated night spent sharing stories and laughter in convenient, bite-sized texting histories, because for the moment, it is the best that we have available.

Even in the darkened depths of a pandemic’s seemingly unceasing isolation, life is still going to find a way.  Love and hope and laughter still hold the power to shine through the gloom of a former comfortable world’s final collapse.  Singularity gracefully gives way to the revitalization of a conjoined experience shared freely and without reservation.

My only remaining question that still lingers here, as I sit alone in an empty blue house for another twelve days, is the very same question asked by a song that makes me think of her:

“You in the moonlight, with your sleepy eyes…could you ever love a man like me?”

About Grey Fox

...author, fighter, lover, typewriter fanatic, and unrepentant Fenian bastard. Known to few, hated by many, but still typing the good fight.

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