Leap Day

{ Monday, March 5, 2012 }
On that rare, balmy day in February I took a long, hard swallow and returned to those docks.
I was nervous.
I was alone this time.
I remember feeling vulnerable and naked without my pen and paper,
But I trekked onward without my proverbial security blankets in tow.
The water slapped the shore lovingly, playfully;
Teasing me.
Enticing me.

The worn wood was all-too familiar as I ran my hand along the railing,
Half-hopeful for a splinter, just to feel something.
I sat down in that familiar nook and began to search calmly --
Then frantically.
The letters were all gone.

Four February's ago those carvings were fresh, wondrous,
Washed away by weather, time and regret,
'LS and LB' never existed to the untrained eye.
A juvenile and atypical gesture at best,
It still stung.

And then my mind wandered to that last Leap Day,
When I asked you, "If it happened on Leap Day, did it really happen? Please love me just one more time, just to make sure it counts."
And you laughed at me and tickled me,
Then happily obliged.

"If I die in my sleep, are you still willing to be everything you promised you would be?"
You asked me with a glint of wistfulness in your eye,
Brushing my hair away from my eyes in the methodical way that I loved.
I was so young.
But, I nodded anyway.

And now I'm branded by my heaving, heavy heart,
But my head remains high.


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