You, Again

You, again. There are more than one of you. More than one of you that whispers in the wriggles of my brain, softly, as I carry out each day. You whisper, 'Look there, it's me.' You whisper, 'Click here, I'm saying hello.' You say, 'Read me. Notice Me. Smile at me. I'm here.'

You are always here, with me.

You say, 'Remember when? Isn't that connection neat?'

And you are not often speaking to me directly. Sometimes it is through a news story: a country, a topic, an opinion, a telling connected to you. Sometimes it is a smell, like ginger lotion as I get onto the underground train six thousand miles away from you. Other times it is speaking a word of you--that is not you--but something you taught me, something you told me, something I thought, so lovingly, of you.

I overflow with love for you. And if I was to tell each of you of my gratitude for each moment with you--even the times when we fought or struggled or didn't make sense, even those moments--if I was to tell you what each moment meant to me, that act, well, it might be far out of context, far from where we are and have been, and it would be my life's work.

In some ways, it is my life's work: the expression of a love for each of you that is so incomprehensible to my human brain that I can only imagine it. And when I do imagine it, it is first a love that encompasses our blue-green earth, then it rises as the warmth inside of me and finally the two dissipate and reform as one, my molecules here touching yours there and here and there at once.

You may not think I am speaking of you and I can not name all of you who whisper in the wriggles of my brain, but your words are there. Your words. You.