Dropping, catching, falling

We walked thru the jungle in the rain, the night was just about to slip its vail over our vision and the trail had vanished amongst the ferns and choclate trees heavy with bright orange rotting pods. In front of us, was a raging river, newly briming and thickly churning from a heavy afternoon downpour. This was the direction we imagined was forward, whatever that nebulous concept meant in this context. 

In an atempt to beat nightfall we had to cross this beast. We had no real choice. We examined large rocks and currents and then you plunged ahead with the help of a bamboo pole. I however, became imobilised in the middle of the rushing water, afraid to take even one step in contradiction of the strong current for fear I would be swept off my feet, the muddy river pushing hard against my legs. Me ludricusly wearing jeans that were now wet up to my waist. The rain continued down in a steady sprinkle that somehow implyed that wetter was even possible in this context. I stood there for far too long trying to will myself forward. Then, just as I lifted my foot and the water gave its strongest push, you came back for me and stretched out your arm, offering your steady hand as solice from the forces of nature. With one quick grasp we were both across and once again standing on thick firm jungly land. 

You normally are more of a egalitarian than a shivilrist. More likely to want evenly devided pie and checks than cavalerly throwing down your coat in a puddle for me to fooloshly walk over. But in that moment, in that context, you reaching out to me was worth a thousand withheld sweet kisses on the back of my neck. Your strong hand in the midst of my fear was the same as a thousand doors opened in front of me, a thousand dinners ordered with me in mind. You made me feel cared for and safe. In that moment I loved you hard and strong like the mossy rocks that held back the rivers force without even budging. 

Once safely on the otherside of the river the trail magically appeared again. One step at a time we made it home, faith that the path existed and could be found was all we needed. That and the willingness to move forward with knowledge that being swept away is not the only answer. We made it home, the last bit on a motorbike, me stealing your heat on the back as we sailed thru the balinese night talking and laughing away the raindrops. I wanted to go home with you and steal more of your sweetness against your will as you slept. But I had another man waiting for me at home, a steady and humble eleven year old who needed my company more. I said goodbye without even a kiss. 

This is what will happen again soon, saying goodbye. Will this time be for good? I don't know. Do you? At the moment I can't see beyond next week. Our future is muddy and blocked by long forced time apart across vast oceans. Our connection to one another not being swept away by the black abyiss of the unknown is all but impossible. I will take a moment, a deep lingering pause, to have faith that a path exists. Hidden only by jungly vines that only need to be pushed away. I will find faith that no matter our distance we can be there to take each others hand when raging rivers require it even as we have found different paths to forge in life and in love. I love you like a rock, steady and strong, take my hand if you ever need it.