He opened the door just as I reached for the latch. It often happened that way. He would call just as his handsome face graced my mind, or text as soon as I looked at my phone. It’s as though there were moments where our timing was just right- we sparked in line and in love, colliding in gentle coincidence. These were the sweet days: the easy smiles and romantic words- the boundless grace of new love.
And of course there were times when we could never get it right. Where the pain was so palpable, demanding every inch of attention, of chest-beating anger and frustration. There were times when promise-filled ideas grew scary and exhausted. When weary, yet tight, hugs were all we could muster through the ups and downs of so much change.
Fear likes to simmer. It likes to stew in a belly coated with good intentions until the fire is stoked. And then it boils; steam rises up and out as words- sputtering and random in their scalding. And all the while the gatekeeper, Love, lies patient. Love breathes slow and steady, never wavering nor waning, but always waiting.
So as he opened the door, I prayed. I prayed for Love to speak- to act through me. I inhaled all he offered in his look and exhaled all I’d been holding onto. I stepped into his arms.
For ten minutes we held each other, door wide open. An embrace with no more words than these. Compassion filled the room. Forgiveness stopped time. Love won. The heat from outside mingled with the air-conditioned chill within, but around us the atmosphere was fair and fine. We had met each other on the other side of that long, tense bridge of misunderstanding. Love would write the rest.