wednesday 9 may 02001 9:05am
chapter three: time and space

i am amazed by the shortness of a year, the length of an hour. yesterday was the first day. i am walking in the street with him. up a hill. i have just surprised myself by blurting "i think i'm in love with you." yesterday... was almost four years ago. he has shared my bed for almost four years. and yet five minutes of watching his chest rise and fall as he lies asleep in that bed, what was once my bed, a bed i bought on the street and stripped to bare metal, five minutes of watching my beloved live, sleeping. that is forever.

every time his chest rises after falling, falls after rising, i am elated. his chest. i marvel at it, the size of it. a barrel. my beloved is barrel-chested. when i watch for a while, his chest becomes the world, and then i wonder how on earth i survive in my own chest, so tiny compared to his. how does it all fit in there?

the cats are stalking about the porch. into the sun, out of the sun. into the sun, out of the sun. nibbling at the orchids to irritate me into giving them breakfast.

dappled sunlight from the tree outside the window moves across my desk like a breath, like breathing. i do not know the name of the tree. what is it called? i must learn this.