I’m feeling caught up in this storm, watching it come down in harmony with my head high from the window of the first restaurant we ducked into, shoes in hand, my partner wrapped in a green towel adorned with floral prints double wrapped at his waist.
The clouds came as quickly as the fourth day I’ve now spent with Jean-Baptiste, and gazing at the torrent saturating the streets, I thought about how thrilling life has been lately. Flooded with infatuation coursing through every conscious thought and guided down byways that seem to have been carved before me, so that when I stop swimming, I get swept in the direction the river was meant to take me.
Just an hour ago we sat on the rocks beside the water while he rolled up his jeans and a spliff, standing swiftly to lift me. He cradled my form as my toes skimmed the surface and carried me the entire length across the river rocks, gripping his backpack equipped with tapestries and iced bags for cool bottles of cider.
Lying in the sun in the patch we’ve carved on this island knoll, I can’t help but smile, sure that it’s to more than just here, just him, just this, but to everything, all at once.
JB keeps a photograph of every family member tucked behind his cell phone in its case, and without one to contribute, I drew a picture of myself and slipped it in with the rest.
We laugh at the words we use in one another’s languages, and I pose short questions asking for long answers, just to hear him speak. When lying on the earth while we converse I can more than hear him talk, I can feel him talk, and I love the way his voice feels.