ING
Language is a power that defies decription.
She wrote it simply:
“Missing you.”
And his heart shattered—as it did every time.
Then it would spend the long hours between the moment and the next explosive exchange stitching itself back together again.
And he loved it.
Every miss you, every love you, every way of saying you’re in my thoughts was a benison to his soul.
It was the power of those three letters that took an acoustic moment and made it symphonic.
ING
Not “miss” you—*missing*.
Not “love” you—*loving*.
The addition, in English, of those three silly letters! Oh, the power of the moment. As he wrote this, he felt warmth in him, and found he displaced his other thoughts, for her—so strong was the power, he felt compelled to tell her now, to pull her through the hole in the garden wall and show her his earthly delights.
Not someday. Now.
That is the power of ing.
Tonight, he does not write of her—he is writing of her, thinking of her, desiring her.
Ach—in the moment.
So perhaps, dear reader, while we slumber and refresh, our lovers will be out in the night, keeping one another—warming and sustaining each other against a cruel and indifferent world.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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