To Her Explorer

“To Her Explorer”

She didn’t think that he would be so far.
But thats the danger of loving an explorer: the exploring.
He wrote to her about a scuffle in Cairo with an unhappy street jeweler.
He described the blinding heat of the Egyptian sun.
He told her that Argentina wasn’t all what it was cracked up to be.

And about a quiet dinner he’d had in Venice.
Candlelight, soft music. Moon.
He said he had wished she was there.
She wrote back that she wished for that too.

But there are such dangers in wishing; pitfalls.
Unseen molecules that escape from the thin seams of dreams and somehow get lost.
Lost somewhere over the crashing waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
Somewhere very deep.

He never told her when he’d be coming back,
but told her to not tire from the waiting.
That’s the other danger of loving an explorer: the waiting.

She put her heart in his notes and the notes in a locket and the locket on a string and hung it from her rearview mirror;
So that she could travel with him too.
She felt that it helped ease the deafening silence that often accompanies the relentless waiting for her explorer to tire of searching the sky for stars and come back to her.