My Wife, Lost in the Wild

I pictured you arriving late and there was apprehension on all of the guests faces but I wasn’t worried in the slightest. They watched the clock and looked at each other, no words spoken and each one taboo. They would look upon my face to try and gain understanding for the circumstances, some justification for their concern but I gave none away. I took it all in. I was aware of the tension and invited it. I inhaled it and enjoyed the way it filtered through my lungs and into each of the smallest passages. I stared intently at the doors at the end of the building - if anything - inwardly smiling for the comfort and peace I knew given the place I stood.

You come through the doors smeared in mud with grazed knees. Past late and overdue, some of your clothes are torn and hanging off your body. Your hair is wild and unkempt, glued together in places in the formation of clumps. You’re barefooted. No make-up. Your fringe covers half of your face and you’ve given up trying to brush it to the side.

I wouldn’t want anything else.

People turn and look at you when you burst through the doors. They don’t recognize you. They don’t know who you are. Their eyes follow you as you walk down the aisle. The music man forgets to play the tune. You have a captive audience.

This is how my baby does it. Resolute and against all odds.

There is a story here but there is no need to tell. I don’t know it but at the same time I know it all.

Maybe your breathing is heavy. Maybe it is not. Maybe things have almost killed you. Maybe your steps are unsteady. Maybe you stumble as you make your way to me. Maybe you have endured the unthinkable.

Heartbroken, out of place, in disrepair, unwanted, troubled, lost, confused, guilty, odd. We've been all of these things.

Your eyes are on mine and mine on yours.

The rest. It doesn’t matter at all.