I love you more than you can know. Or perhaps you did know, but we were obliged to keep it a secret.
I had always been looking ahead, it was where I saw myself. The only thing I was tasked to do was look ahead, but I knew that I was always here.
I was always looking back, more than I ever would admit, and all that I would see is empty plain, endless yellow-hued sagebrush, and the Lord at my guard.
We chose this path, except the eyes that had us ushered along into it. And the quaking terrors filled out all the space we expected. "Am I dead?", I kept thinking to myself? But you are here, and I know no greater peace in my heart than this. I love you more than you can know.
You were everywhere that I looked. I was abundantly, occupied, although never preoccupied.
The others I met along this path were warm and kindred souls; sometimes I would hope to employ their help, but mostly I knew they needed mine. And I knew I had shackles, but they were never to them, and I no longer meant to pull at them. My shackles were of my own forge; they were panic inducing, at times debilitating, but only until I thought of you.
I would stop in at towns along the way to visit customers and for drinks, usually opting to live behind my khakis and my headphones. I always wanted a seat with a view, especially if it was coastal. I'd typically drink something fresh and sweet, like a mojito or a margarita, but they admittedly did not get me as drunk as I had liked.
Sometimes I'd strike up conversations with folks, carrying on about the view or the drinks, but I knew I couldn't take long by the glint in their eyes. So many software engineers and marketers... why could none of them cut?
One encounter stuck out to me at a brass-cladden bar on the north coast. We got to talking about old horror and thriller movies; Roman Polanski came up, and we agreed that he put beautiful perspective into his films. Polanski was so true, so stylish. These are qualities that mean a lot to me in art, as if a director or an actor is at center mass of what love and life means to all of us. I would watch a Polanski movie and have a completely new take on life for months to follow, which I could only say of a few directors or writers. And to have been accomplished as both was an unusual feat. I never knew of a director, and if I had, I'd only wave.
A messenger's life is all I'd ever known, and my mind was where I lived. You never left me, wherever I was, but I knew that I had to be leaving quite regularly. I can hardly tolerate people looking at me anymore. I don't know how it happened so quick that I would become exhausted by my own voice, but I knew now, at least that I could be quiet. I suppose this is why I also took to being on the road, fleeting alongside others who really meant to be going.
This simply was not the case for me, however, as I'd only meant to be coming. I wanted to be everywhere, only insofar as I was nowhere. I knew, wherever I would end up, that you were there.
I felt like a graceful typhoon when I visited customers, so I didn't usually stick around for long. The hotel bar was calling, and so was the solitude of my room and the trade show snacks that I was hauling around.
Travel also gave me lots of time to think, but more than that, it gave me a productive place to do it. There's something about an unfamiliar place that changes how you think about things you had already thought a lot about. Mobility is freeing, but also a trap.
Pasteurized, rescinded disgust, like a beige-grey geriatric device, and supposedly, this is as I ought to be.
We knew this didn't have to be; nothing in our lives ever suggested to us that things were already how they had to be, but its precisely the case that thinking this way allows us to be who we are.
I liked to present, because it meant I was prepared with things to say, but they only ever wanted to fly me out when I had to be held accountable for difficult problems. At least I could practice my intonation and delivery. To them, I figured, I had best been a magician, although on the road, I did hold myself to the standard of a professional. At home, nonetheless, I held myself to the standard of a priest.
Once, a girl came up to me, putting her belly up against my shoulder, and told me she thought I was cute. I turned around and quietly told her that she was giving me goosebumps, as I felt like I just sank my full body into a warm pool. I admired her cute face and physique, and I wondered if she was old enough to know who Shania Twain is.