I love you so, I always will. This is my song as I swing back and forth, back and forth, listening to the wind whisper your name, its soft breath tickling my face. Will just saying it bring you to me? Somehow I believe it will, if I time my words to the rhythm of the swing it will act as a spell: “I love you so,” swing forward, “I always will,” swing back. I picked this dress for you; I know you will love running your fingers across the billowy fabric, letting it slide from your hands. I know you will love how the breeze causes the skirt to flutter around my hips; it will remind you of our dance under the moon last night. I call you to me, once again. I call you to me, here to this place of stillness and reverie. What will I say when your face peeks above our rock? Will I squeal with delight or just rush to your arms in silence? Saying anything but your name seems absurd, inadequate. Will you pick me up and spin me around, nose to nose, eye to eye? Will you smile and have on your dancing eyes or will your gaze be heavy and reverential? Will you wear the trousers from last night, leaves and dirt brushed from the seat? Will you notice my belt, the amulet you gave me dangling from the end? Will you notice my wet eyes, overcome with relief at the mere sight of you? I packed us a lunch--I stowed it behind the far rock out of sight. I was rushed and nervous doing it. If Mama caught me; well, I don’t want to say. I tucked away the ends of the bread from last nights supper and took just a shaving from Mr. Webster’s cheese. Plus one apple, 4 grapes and 2 olives. That’s enough. If you’re hungry I’ll let you have it all. Perhaps I’ll be brave and kiss the apple juice from your chin. “I love you so,” swing forward, “I always will,” swing back. The air rushes up my skirt as I swing forward and delights my sticky skin. A twig cracks behind me and I twist around. Is it you? My heart throbs as I scan the brush for your silhouette, but I catch not a glimpse. Do you really think I’m pretty, or just plain like Rebecca Black? Tell me again how my face reminds you of the cool, clear water on the other side of the mountain--how you rushed forward and drank with the thirst of a dying man. Tell me how my hair feels like the silk of the corn you shucked for supper. How you want to make a shirt of it so it will always be right against your heart, the silky strands tickling and warming at the same time. Look right into my eyes, unflinching and sure. Gold flecks shimmering in the sun, dancing and moving to the song only we can hear. I stole two of Ames’ marbles because they reminded me of your eyes. Glittering gold and woven with the loveliest of greens. I picked them up and put them right in my pocket and ran upstairs where I rolled them around in my palm. I’m not going to tell you where I put them because if they ask then you won’t know. I have never done such a thing to poor Ames and I pray that he is never the wiser. What else am I capable of doing in the name of you? I don’t want to think about it; I won't. I would follow you out of these woods, barefoot and with utter certainty. I would never look back; there would be no trail of breadcrumbs to follow.
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