Sometimes when I am laying next to you, I don't really see you. I see tomorrow. I watch the sun rise slowly over the horizon. A pink and yellow stain creeps across the sky until everything is bright. If I close my eyes really tight, I feel the breeze against my arms, like an open window in a fast truck.
If I squeeze my eyes really, really tight, I feel the sun warm my shoulders and then I feel the shade of a thousand four-hundred year old trees bearing down like a cold blanket. And I walk up the hill. I climb, I go straight up. I skip the path, I don't smell the flowers or touch the leaves. I am Sisyphus.
But I like this hard work.
Because I am hiking to all the tomorrows and I need to reach the cloud break. To burst over the top of all the topiness until I'm standing and looking as far as I can see. And that is when I open my eyes, and I see you.
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