You don’t know me yet, I said to him once, as we stood among the cat reeds watching the sun set over the water. This was in the days when the thought of us was still new, before love or forever ever entered our vocabulary.
Then show me, he told me, palms stretched open and eyes pleading. Show me everything there is to know.
There’s the thing of my family, I explained, hesitating, my tongue too thick and clumsy to find the words inside my heart. And the other side of the world.
How do you explain to a person you think you might be beginning to love a thing you’ve loved fiercely your whole life, maybe even before you were born? This is the question I’ve asked myself a hundred times. How do you let a new person in to a community you’ve always held sacred; a community whose key is laughter and tears, and whose gates are sealed with idioms and memories?