Beginning

In the beginning there were no trees, no honeysuckle, no morning breezes to wake up to. In fact it was all just one awakening. There was no coffee waiting on the table nor was there a table, a chair, or a rug, there was only you and I. We stood face to face waiting for something to happen, a lean, a reach, a grab, a touch. That, of course, was the beginning.

Now it's been days, months, who can really count the seconds? Some of my most vivid memories include my grandpa at our kitchen table. I can still see his dentures on his plate of unfinished banana peels and sardine sandwiches. I can still smell the sardines.

"Just last week- " he begins, then pauses to check his memory "or was it last month? Well just last week I was down in Vegas" he will explain, but you know full well that it's been at least six months since he last visited your cousins. I suppose in the end he was right. Who can really tell you what has and hasn't happened in the past or when it did or didn't?

In the beginning there were no people, only a vast expanse. A vast emptiness waiting to be filled and even still we can feel it- when you are standing next to the one you love and they have no idea, when you breath as deep as you can and you find that it's really inside of you. I feel it sometimes when I'm sleeping, it lies right next to me and holds me until the morning.

And in the beginning it wasn't meant to be permanent.

In the beginning.