We held each other tight that night, uncertain of what the months to follow would bring... but certain, at that moment, of the gravity of our commitment. We slept so heavy and with such urgency that we failed to hear his alarm inciting the drive to Houston Int'l for my flight to CA to teach for the semester. I didn't mind. I suppose it meant more time with him. And although we rushed to make it... he was with me... I held his hand while he accelerated, not unlike our hearts, as reassurance. I can't imagine having it be any other way. He, after all-- and for all my denial and downplaying love as a motive-- was my reason for being in this city I've come to call home: Houston. I resolved with a parting kiss and half-certain that it made sense to leave, that the next few months would be about the determination, however clumsy, of a man who wanted to make his beloved proud. And in doing so, I perhaps failed to see that he was already proud of me: mistakes and all, imperfections, broke, jobless, bump on my forehead, multi-tasking talents and absurd intelligence... i was still already alright with him... normal enough, good enough, handsome enough to be his life-partner.

Well... the months between August and December have been a hurricane that IKE had nothing on... and perhaps those winds of change stirred up some "stuff" that was always there, beneath the surface of our resolve... about our assurance with one another, about our "fit", about the way all this loving landed us here... longing and broken a bit-- trying to sort out how to continue our love beyond the miles and temporary distance. When I mentioned my beloved's name in classes and at marriage equality rallies, when I placed pictures of our smiles on chapbook covers and on office doors, I imagined that i was doing enough to evoke his presence. Perhaps I took for granted that he wasn't as resolved as all those people i worked so tirelessly to convert into believers... that black men can love black men...and work through the stuff. In loving, all isn't perfect... but there is honor in the trying we do to get it right, to forgive, to love anyway. I suppose I'm still trying. I know that I will smile that way again.

The distance increased the storm... and at some point, he broke. Nothing I have been able to do or say has made any difference. And I have seen sides of him that I didn't know existed, as reasons to accept the fate of our ill-fit. Still, I have never felt so hopeless in my life.. wanting to try; believing part of the time that if it was meant to be, it would be easy... and the other part of the time that maybe our love has run its course. But there is an imprint, a stain of remembrance on my heart that will not soon go away. So today, as I pack and grade and focus on my return... there is a small part of me that hopes he'll awaken on 12.20... perhaps earlier than he had planned, but in time enough to greet me the way he left me... with a kiss (even if just a friendly one) as a way of saying... "I haven't given up on us..."

As I type this, I know how this kind of wild imagining, this wishful thinking, is probably what landed us both here in the first place. But there is something pure in it. It's not meant to hurt... It's the bold and unburdened courage of a child who believes he can walk on fire, fly off rooftops, move mountains. As we get older... we lose faith. I'm still a but fearless, if stubborn. I believe that there is unfinished business... even if that means we sort out how to be friends. I know that I want him in my life... and not with the burden that our conversations have become since the break: logistical, brief, lacking compassion, if cordial. Anyone who experienced us know we have seldom been "cordial" with one another. Passion was the marker that made believers of everyone else it seems. Sometimes I miss that.

And I know Jones-West is wishful thinking, but I am nothing if not honest with myself about my feelings. So today... I'm still in love with him. Today my name is still hypenated and my mother-in-law is still Ms. Pat. Today and perhaps not tomorrow, I indulge in wishful thinking earnest enough to claim it... to someday release it. God will take care.. of me, of him, of us... whatever that means.