Convergence

Estes Park, Colorado.
I stood on a bridge, trying to find the right camera angle to capture what my eyes were seeing.
Two streams of water.
Both powerful, cold, alive, pulsing.
Below the bridge, beneath my feet, these two bodies of water met.
Converging.
Colliding.
Mixing, churning, frothing.
Two became one, until one was not distinguishable from the other.
Both streams were still present.
But they couldn't be separated.
Take a drink, it was both streams who quenched your thirst.
Wade into the water, it was both currents who washed your body.

Winchester, Kentucky.
I sat on the floor of an attic bedroom. The window unit blew a warm 75 degrees. Cats purred at my feet as I listened to my friend. My friend who still has not lost her European accent, whose cheeks are red from the tears she refuses to shed (I am sure my cheeks are the same hue... my eyes just as bloodshot).
I tell her about this place.
This place of convergence.
And how the analogy is what gets me through the day.
On the days when I am lonely.
When the desires of my heart seem so far fetched and unattainable.
I remember that I know better.
I understand I have yet to meet someone whose water I want to mix with.
There has yet to be another soul who I wanted to converge with, so that our lives were indistinguishable from one another's.
There hasn't been someone who I wanted to mix my water with.
I know better.
Knowing just how hard it is to sift the waters apart again.

Whatever I was worried about before (learning how to be friends with her in person) have flown out the window. She is an answered prayer. Talking life out with her, brought this metaphor to my mind. And I'm excited beyond words to see what the next few years hold for the both of us. It will be a year ago on Sunday that she and I stood on stage and shared our art... a year ago that she left for Europe.

Who ever knew that coming home would be the greatest adventure so far?