I wasn’t ready for you.
I told you that and you thought I was being facetious. Clever, even. Just playing with words like one would play with emotions like one would run a bow across the strings of a violin, for sport and for pleasure, for the sound, but not for the feeling.
But, I wasn’t being facetious and I am not playing. I am serious, too much so; I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t just not ready for you, I simply wasn’t ready.
Life, as one knows, does not happen according to a schedule.
It doesn’t happen according to your wants.
Life sweeps up like wind off the Thames: sudden, brutal, sharp, and unbidden.
Life comes upon you like a summer storm: the sun hides behind the clouds like a child ducks behind a doorway, and the rain pitches at you like a speedballer on his last legs.
Life comes at you boxer, a pugilist who must knock you out or be knocked out himself, and you can duck, you can jink and jive, you can put your hands up to block–
Or you can let yourself be hit in the face. Knocked out. Knocked down. Let the stars circle your head and your vision get opened up just as quickly as your nose does, too.
You, I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t ready at all and I certainly wasn’t ready for you, but you have knocked me flat on my back, rattled my head around, left me gushing blood and possibly with a chipped tooth.
And I would not trade that hit for anything in the world because you have changed my world. Thank God I wasn’t ready.
Thank God I didn’t duck.
I needed you. I need you.