I stand at tomorrow’s doorway—afraid to knock. What if it opens to nothingness, to self-betrayal?
My beloved doesn’t live behind tomorrow’s door. He died so many yesterdays ago. Yet, I can’t help but cling.
I was whole before we embarked into sacred love, before he said, “I’m all in” and exposed his congruence.
This man without waver allowed me to settle into love like a swaddled baby.
We took each other to places we’d never been and always wanted to go, within ourselves and a relationship. All we’d hoped for was made manifest. Everyday life became a vacation. Sharing coffee in the morning was pure pleasure.
He set me afire with his love, filled me to overflowing, and quietly died in the night.
I want him back. Not possible. Still, I fantasize.
More than my beloved, I long for my wholeness, the peace I had without him before I was with him.
His love enhanced my sense of aliveness. His death rearranged my energies. I’ve been trying to align ever since.
I must not blame my imbalance on his passing. How can I when he speaks to me still?
Is there a new chapter behind tomorrow’s door? Yes. Yet, I resist knocking.
Today, I sit with myself the way I did before he burst into my life like the Fire! he was.
With prayer, I open myself to be transformed in this moment. And then the next.
Not yesterday; it disappears like his cigar smoke.
Not tomorrow. That door swings from the other side.
Today. No fear. Only love. Gratitude for all he gave and my readiness to receive.
Now, the universe is tapping me on the shoulder with gifts galore. I open my eyes to the present.
I’m lit up by nature, the beauty of a hummingbird’s luminescent green feathers and fluttering wings, like a magic trick before me.
Behold. Something in me takes flight.