hollymath: (Default)
[personal profile] hollymath
"I think it was April 18th," James said to me. "Which will be next Friday. I won't see you Friday, but I will see you Saturday."

I'm not too worried about anniversaries, as previously noted. It's nice to think we've been at this a whole year now, though. Yesterday, after lunch and with nothing good on at the cinema, and not wanting to bother Andrew while he was working from home, we spent the afternoon lying in the grass in a park, soaking up the sunshine. Oh yeah, I remember this, I thought. We used to do this! And now we can again, so it must be a new year.

As we all learned from Spaced, anniversaries are about whatever you mark as important, and while Friday makes sense -- it was a day that ended with the world seeming drastically different than it had at the beginning -- there are two others that stick in my mind.

The first one would've been a year ago yesterday, I see (because it handily involved a timestamped comment). Yesterday I might have been lying next to him in the park, but a year ago yesterday I remember almost as well.

I had a long day -- week -- of work ahead of me. I saw that I had an e-mail just as I was leaving the house that morning, so absentmindedly opened it on my phone in case it was work-related. It wasn't, it was a reply to a rather vague comment I'd left: I'd found a quote from a Terry Pratchett book that seemed to describe my melancholy rather well, and in the first comment James added another good metaphor from Hitch-Hikers about flying being a matter of aiming at the ground and missing because you got distracted, and about failing to get distracted.

When I said that I too felt like I'd been hitting the ground from a great height, I got this reply that actually stopped me in my tracks as I was just about to unlock the front door and go to work.

"If you give me a shout, I'll try to catch you," he said.

I didn't stop theatrically, I had no audience. But I had to stop because something in this sentence made me have to rearrange my worldview.

James and I had been chatting in e-mail for a week or two by this point, mostly just about how our days were going or whatever. It was nice and had helped me through some tedious times, but I hadn't thought too much about it. But now...what was this? What kind of way is this to talk? Should I be making anything of it at all? Maybe he's just being nice. But, looking back on it now I can realize that it didn't feel like that. And that I didn't want him to be just being nice.

The world looked different already by the time I finally opened the door to go to work.

Later that day I stood in front of a room of people, asking them questions, posed to write their answers on a flipchart next to me, grinning more than the external situation warranted because I was still thinking Someone wants to catch me if I need it. And I'd had no idea until now. I marveled at a world that had such wonders in it.

I was going to talk about the other day from a year ago that I'm thinking of, but it's taken me all day to do this, and the anniversary of that isn't for a few more days, I'll leave it for now.

(no subject)

Date: 2014-04-16 11:36 pm (UTC)
quirkytizzy: (Default)
From: [personal profile] quirkytizzy
This is such a beautiful entry.

And what he told you about - about catching you because you were too distracted to fall - that made me heart feel so open and full of love.

I like that. The idea of an anniversary being the day something looks different than it did the day before. That's poetic and very relevant.

(no subject)

Date: 2014-04-17 05:37 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] magister
Yes, the evening of the 18th last year, the world did feel very different. The feeling it gives me - it's like finding a road that you never knew was there, not knowing quite where it may lead you, but knowing it'll be different from where you are. We none of us know where we're going, but I'm glad you're with me.

(no subject)

Date: 2014-04-17 08:33 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] magister
Is this a good time to mention that I love you?


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