Driftwood Memory

Pictures in my mind, breezing through the albums of the memories, fading in and out from reality to a time and place where I can no longer be. I find myself so enraptured with how this all happened, the trauma and drama that threw me, catapulted me, back into your world, that forced my mouth, once sewed shut, open, to spill out the detailed and natural promises of a young, battered, burn-victim of love. I remember so clearly, all of it, all of it, that gaudy pink sweater, the way that I could not, would not tear my eyes away from your face, so comforting to me, a piece of driftwood to hold onto in a cataclysmic ocean of hopelessness and fear. You saved me from it all, my dear. That first "I love you," barked out like an order, relieved at the hesitant answer, the fantastic dreams of forevers. I tested your limits back there where we once were, making sure you intended, really intended, to stay. And somehow you're still staying, somehow these pictures aren't fading, somehow the piece of driftwood grew into a boat, and you just carry me along as the blue rises and falls.