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when these hands ripen, promise me that you will not see the sagging skin but that you will see the flesh that has matured into parts of you, the being who meshed so fully into oneness with you that who i was then and who i am now cannot be factored unless you entered the equation.
when my eyes lose their ability to gaze into the distance, will you look deeply and appreciate the shallow depth of field that wisdom allows? the narrowed perspective that only patience and the ability to look long and hard affords?
when my thighs are no longer supple and nimble, but tender and powdery, please hold me firmly as you always have, with the hunger and masculinity that your manliness drives you to.
when i ache, and my lungs struggle for air, please share the confined space of dreams recollected, dusted off and relived through sharing. please read to me, as i once did for you. please sing to me, if you can.
if my mind was to go, please distance yourself to retain yourself, but stay nearby enough for our love to kindle another type of flame. who said marriage only warmed around one fire?
when my back folds over and my heart turns inward towards the innards of my being, please hold the door still, as you do now. for it might just be the last opening through which we walk.
when these hands ripen, please hold them still.
{i have been grappling with purpose in the last few months. for those who read my post on career burnout, you will know why. i am asking a lot of questions. one question that keeps twirling in my thoughts is whether i am ready to die or not. i am reflecting on times in my life where i have grown and simultaneously given fully of myself. i am thinking deeply about living outwardly for others, living selflessly. in my search i went through my outreach project photos. i photographed this woman is 2008 while we were building in mozambique.}
