Those You've Known

My doorbell rang at 10 PM on Saturday. No one rings my doorbell. They text "Here" or they clomp in through the garage. I took a deep breath, prepared to see this person, but when I opened the door I was not prepared to see this person. These are the times I understand embraces. I could not stand on my own in a moment of such affection. It was this person who was the person who nearly gave my first roommate a heart attack by busting into our freshman dorm room with a bullhorn. This person who once sat quietly with me in a second story pension in Kyoto and spoke calmly about death and fear. Scents of blossoms and fish rode the fall breeze in through the window. This person is the same person who has held me when I have cried and once made me laugh so hard I threw up. That person was this person, and this person was here in this whole new world part of my life. "You can't take it with you," they say, but I have my doubts.

This song is apropos and incidentally so beautiful I am almost moved to tears listening to it lately:

Now they'll walk on my arm through the distant night,

and I won't let them stray from my heart.

Through the wind, through the dark, through the winter light--

I will read all their dreams to the stars.