Her face is out of the reach of words. Gently sculpted, luminous eyes, Michelangelo mouth, all out of the reach of words, at least my words. They cannot get near the depth of her look, the substance there that makes me want to go deeper, learn more, breathe in all that is there.

Like a little boy I look away, then quickly look back because I want to make sure that what I have seen is real and not a mirage. Her miracle face is still there and now I wonder if maybe I’m dreaming so I try and shake myself from sleep, but nothing happens because I am not asleep. I am awake.

If I am awake and her face is still before me then maybe I have died and now I am in heaven. Then I see the phone bill on my writing table and in an instant know I have not died and I am not in heaven because, while I may not be the brightest man on the planet, I know there are no phone bills in heaven.

So this earthly face before me is real. And I see, and smile, and remember to breathe…and am warmed by gratitude and set down my pen because I know I cannot come close. But I can remember to breathe – and smile – and breathe again.



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