Years on years on years I’ve been spilling out words, telling some long winding story, my story, our story. They culminated here, in this photograph, in this pause between those chapters and the rest we will write together, they all came to the front of me and poured out of my eyes and cracked my voice like a desert floor. Then came the rain, all that salt stored up from all that time waiting to say them, to write them, to read them aloud into Scottish rain. I broke reading these words, full and wholly, I shattered over and again, she held it together so much better than I did, for it felt like a setting down of a weight that I’d held for ages, for eternities. A turning of a page has a sound, it has a tangible feel, it has a smell and I know now it’s cracking voice, it’s old pages between fingertips, it’s heather after an October misting, it’s her skin beneath that dress, it’s the Harris tweed once rained upon.
I don’t know what words will come next, what words will be buried beside all the ones already written, what pages and chapters will continue this story, our story, but I know I’ll write them daily, I’ll glance over in the moments of first light each morning, and I’ll be thankful. We are made by the love we chase, made by the love that finally soothes the stormy seas in us, we are made by the risks that bring us home.
One day, many days from this day, I hope they find everything I have ever written, I hope they dissect them and find that this was our tale, this was our love, and we did it right along the way. I hope they see that I was the man who waited, and you were the woman who risked it, and together we carved out a little place on a big planet, and tried our very best to leave everyone we found better than they were before us. I hope.
Now, it’s back to writing, there’s more story to tell.
When they find these words
they'll finally know our tale,
the love that made us.
Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson
Song of the Day
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