time seems like such a small thingMature

Timing seems like such a small thing
unless you really focus in it on, look at it
through the microscope of hindsight
and study its habits, its patterns and shades.
But really, all of life is about timing.  
You were conceived because your mother
was ovulating and your father caught sight of her
in just the right light, with just the right slow upward curve
of her mouth, because the blizzard had stranded them both
at home instead of at work and there was all that silence
and all that space and somewhere in all the fervor,
you appeared.  And just so you know I thank the fates
every day for that blizzard and that quiet and that moment
because every moment of my life was leading up to 
the moment I met you.  Some people meet at a time
when they’re not sculpted exactly right just yet and 
some people meet when they’ve just shaved the last few edges.
I cannot say I thank the fates for the method that kept you
within arms reach but I cannot curse them, either. 
We survived on the in-between moments of fate, where
things greater than ourselves are decided.  When our daughter
asks how we fell in love, I promise I’ll omit the way your clothes
always smelled like hospitals, I won’t tell her the way I sometimes found you
as a shell in a dark room, your eyes puffy from the ocean of tears
you shed, the one you still had inside of you that would not come out.
I’ll only tell her how at night, your sleeping body curled around me
and I could hear every still moment we would ever have
between the beats of your heart and the rhythm of your breathing.
I’ll tell her how we seemed to merge when our skin touched.
I’ll tell her, timing will make or break every aspect of your life.
I’ll tell her, thank the fates when you come out ahead, 
thank them when you come out behind.

The End

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