One day I will sit beside myself, hand in wrinkled, quivering hand, and I will say, “I have always loved you.” I will nod my head of white hair, fix my unseeing eyes on my own face, and reply, “I always knew.”
One day I will take myself in my arms, hold my birdlike bones close to my heart and I will sing a lullaby so soft and sweet that it will make me forget everything that aches, everything that has been lost.
One day I will know that who I am, who I have always been, is so much more than enough, is never too much, is just right, and I will tenderly stroke my powder-soft cheek and whisper sweet nothings into the shell of my ear.
One day I will look down the dusty road of time stretched out behind me, will see a parade of men I tried to force myself to fit and I will say, “I never loved you.” They will nod, and, with voices full of tender recrimination, they will reply, “I always knew.”
One day I will have a wife, and she will be both my sweetest thing and my bitterest pill, a chuckling stream and an igniting fire, the warm blanket that covers me at night and the bracing chill of the air that greets me in the morning.
One day we will live in a little cottage and we will have pillows on every surface, a luxurious couch, flowers in vases and in mason jars and in pots, so many animals we can barely move without stepping on them. Cats and dogs and rabbits, bearded dragons and hedgehogs, birds and birds and birds.
One day I will know I’m home, the home that is not just a house, but is a soul entwined with my soul, a hand holding my hand, a heart making space for my heart. I will trace the lines on her palm and I will know that each one leads back to me, to our cottage, to this love that has been patiently waiting for us to arrive, that greets us with a mug of steaming tea and a story whose beginning is its end is its beginning, a timeless ring of love and love and love.
One day we will hold hands and dive into our own private stretch of lake, the water just the right chill to complement the blazing heat of a summer’s day, and we will break apart as we hit the surface, but we will swim together to a place where we can rest.
Chelsea Pinson is a totally blind queer woman from Oklahoma, living in an old green house called the Merhouse with her best friend, his Black lab guide dog, and two beloved cats. In her free time, she enjoys horror, theology, plants, records, poetry, and fairy tales. She has previously been published in Corvid Queen. This is her second publication.
Uncovered logs from the distant past and the future beyond.