Simmer. I watch as it simmers. To a slow pace of a less frequent bubble-warmth still there -but less so and the wonder will I actually get this hot enough to eat. How long can you let something simmer without a return to normal heat or to a boil? I said I wanted something different. And different is what I got. A love affair unlike the disney creation. A love affair unlike the floor falling underneath me. Happenstance of life of meeting might be of fairy tales but the courting. So very different. Not the crash and burn of my before existence. But a slow pace based on life and accidents and schedules and life random events. And the talking and texting until the meetings of the minds and the warming up quickly to a boil for a bit. To medium and back to boil. The spontaneity and flexibility of making time. And then back again to a simmer. A trip. Warmth again. A death. Simmer. And now as I look at this range I wonder if I should give up on this stew. Have I tried to long to stir into something. Had the heat been lost in the simmer. I never threw it away. I kept trying. Because. Because I wanted something different. And this was.
And the times his eyes cross into my path. And the times his laughter becomes mine. And the times when we break bread or burritos. And the times I hear his voice, his words. And feel the warmth of him slowly on my mouth. On me. Not just on my body. But on my mind. The banter of lightness and heavy and light again that I had lived for. Was here. With me. Right now. I didn't have to hide my degrees or love for books and reading research. Or that I spill on myself and I trip regularly on my own two feet both right and left. He thought me being me was enduring. I thought it was embarrassing. The nervousness I feel to shield myself never felt. The pot didn't boil over and no falling apart of him or me. No me trying ever ingredient to save this failed stew. Not a soliloquy of how can I save you with my glittery S underneath. But a pace slowly that I am getting used to.
As I watch the pot as it simmers. I wonder how long this can simmer. How long I can wait. To see him again. For life circumstances keep us from each other. I said I wanted something different. I said I would wait. And wait I do walking in and out of this kitchen of my heart. And wonder what will be next. But I have a feeling in between sleep and awake that there will be more cooking of this stew of us. Its taking time. To make something. Something that matters.
And maybe fear of it all. Scares me more that the shitty soups I used to make. Full of spices and lots of boiling and the desire to make something out of nothing. No stone soup in reality. It is not happening. Not this time. But on simmer. I watch. It all. And wonder when I can turn this up again. I wanted to turn it up yesterday. But as it simmers. Still. I let the worries wash over me. Because I know. I know I tread on the newness of a different story. And no matters what's next I'm playing a new game. A new kind of cooking. An affair of my heart. A new way of me. Being here. And although it stays on simmer. I warm at the thought of seeing him again. Soon.
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