The fog was thick and low tonight. It felt like a winter’s night all of a sudden. Such is life near this ocean. How did I end up alone on the sidewalk just outside the restaurant which would forever remind me of you? I was with that loud and happy group and we were talking and there was laughter and friendship circling our table. I know I suddenly missed you and felt miserable sitting there without you. Quick goodbyes and embraces had delivered me into the sidewalk in the foggy evening. Right there on the dark, fog cloaked street, I missed everything about you, your wonderful hands, your solid frame, your smell. As I forged ahead in the mysterious mist of the night, however, I found myself missing your eyes most of all. Not the way they were when you were talking, or the way they were when you were laughing, or they way they were when you were thinking. I remembered your eyes as they looked when I lowered myself onto you. Your eyes were so warm, so calm, so trusting, so vulnerable as you buried yourself in my arms. Your eyes told me of your surrender to me, a surrender which at that moment was complete and palpable and right. Your eyes told me a story I never got tired of hearing.
As I pulled up the zipper on my windbreaker and gave up on shielding my frizzing hair against the mist covering my body and my soul, I missed your eyes tonight.
