loving music poetry WRITING

When He Loves Another He’s Loving Me

When He Loves Another He's Loving Me

My eyes closed in the middle of writing a text to my neighbor, and my body immediately felt flush, as if in reaction to a surprise kiss of passion.

For several minutes it felt as if I wasn’t breathing, and I saw his face, his lips, his body, all of him outlined in a blue hue, a secondary energy between us. The moment filled me with profound gratitude. He’d found another way to love me.

When I told my best neighbor about it, she called me an ‘ole biddy, told me I should lay off the nighttime eating, and I didn’t correct her to explain that I don’t see nighttime ’til day. Her name is Abby, and she believes that my being seventy and her being sixty-nine makes me old and her a spring chicken.

It’s not like we’re the milf’s of days gone by, and besides, that man is in his eighties so I should have predicted she wouldn’t believe me. I’ve felt something for nearly thirty years now, but ain’t never spoke about it aloud, and meeting her five years ago didn’t change anything, especially since convincing herself I’d already caught the dementia’s.

When Abby comes to visit every day she never fails to ask if I’m okay when I start shivering in my rocking chair.

“I’m fine you old goat!” I always say before shaking my head and diving back to my thoughts or feelings.

Folks all around the world sit silently with their pain, so it makes perfect sense those same folks sit silently with their love, and sometimes just shake.

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