10.15.17 – Im-binged
We hoarded hours like winter was coming and we didn’t think there’d be any to spare. In a way we were right, the cold season’s approach meant our time was bound to be eaten up, bit by bit, with help from the socialites we tried to keep polite company with. There’d be ceremony and fire alike to bond over and spill our eggy cups upon ourselves in sloppy fashion (another hallmark wreathed on wool.) You hated the small talk but liked the idea of get-togethers as an excuse to lure the less-than-often used parts of yourself out into the open. You were a shy host who was both delighted and scared that guests showed up.
We didn’t plot well once calendars stopped being involved. You could recite dates as well as any thorough historian, but you never had a knack for engineering beyond the invitation. I didn’t stomach it either and left you to scuttle in that mess until it looked as though you were drowning; then I’d jump in to lend a hand and mostly forget that I couldn’t swim. We’d muddle by as we always did, charm and gold in hand, dowsing fires as they sparked out from the embers we’d let in at the front door (smothering was your strong suit.)
I’d look forward to the in-between times. We’d find each other in the silent passings of a crowd and company. I’d nudge you a little and sneak my hand into yours briefly as our paths crossed. Those attendants must have thought we were teenagers looking for any contact on this chaperoned date, but they carried us on and apart from one another thinking that you and I might have time enough alone after the fete. We didn’t tell them no. Instead I played the cheerful emcee and I stole what moments I could from you, gathering them up to keep me warm through the chilly months; happily you did the same.