Weaving the Liminal: Come Here
Hello loves,
I met a close friend at a local oddities and curiosities shop. The moment she walked through the door, I opened my arms and wrapped her in a hug.
I didn’t want to let go.
After the long embrace, I held her hands in mine, looking at her smiling face. For the last year, I’d wanted to hug her. Now she was standing in front of me.
We wandered the shop looking at insects, bones, skulls, taxidermy, plants, and terrariums, all while talking as if we’d done this many times before.
A hug goodbye turned into a late-night parking lot conversation with a friend. We talked about superficial conversations versus the depths we could go, rereading our favorite books, the ones that take us into other worlds, poetry, tarot, and so much more.
He grabbed his backpack, opened it, and pulled out Love Is a Dog from Hell by Charles Bukowski.
“Tell me when to stop,” he said, fanning the pages.
“Stop.”
His finger landed almost halfway through the book and he read me the words that appeared on the page.
I don’t remember what he read. I remember the moment, the layers unfolding as we shared, and the magic of late-night poetry bibliomancy.
I had a long conversation with a close friend of mine. He shared the big changes he’s experiencing right now. Everything is shifting.
We’ve had many conversations like this before, but this one felt different. More silence. Longer pauses.
When it was time to say goodbye, we hugged and talked a little longer. He started to walk away, took a few steps, then turned around. I hadn’t moved. We looked at each other. A long pause.
Then he broke into a huge grin.
“Come here.”
He walked back and we hugged again.
One of my favorite coffee shops made it back into the rotation. I hadn’t been there in over a month. I was pulling napkins from the dispenser when I looked over and discovered a friend I hadn’t seen in a while standing next to me.
We hugged, and I felt the softness of his black shirt, the smooth texture beneath my fingertips.
As we talked, he caught a glimpse of the planchette ring I always wear. I slipped it off my finger so he could take a closer look.
“Let’s trade,” he said.
He pulled a fidget spinner from his pocket and placed it in my palm.
I felt the warmth and weight of it, the smoothness, the spinning and clicking beneath my fingertips.
He invited me to join him at the empty table beside him. I thanked him, sharing that I was there to see a local artist perform a solo gig in the sandbox.
At closing time, he was still there, packing up his belongings. I walked over to say goodbye and told him I was glad we ran into each other and had a chance to talk.
He looked at me with his gorgeous blue eyes and rosy cheeks.
“Are you going to be coming around more?”
I couldn’t help but smile.
XO,
Naomi