Page 9 - The Houseguest

remember thinking to myself, if this is as “meant to be” as I believe it is, she will know it, too.
She lifted her head and smiled again. Her face, the room, the world, seemed to light up with that smile. Her eyes met mine and I focused on the connection with every fiber of my being. It was as though two unspoken questions had uncovered one answer. I could feel that she experienced it, too. “I’m Karina,” were the words I hear over and over in my mind to this day, the minute I open my eyes to acknowledge every morning.
Hours passed, but they felt like minutes. By this time Tom had long since gone home sensing that a goodbye would only interrupt the moment. We talked, we laughed, we flirted without the need to employ tactics of seduction. We both knew that time would come, but it wasn’t tonight. We felt a stronger desire to link intellectually, spiritually, internally. It was midnight before Karina had gained enough trust in me to share some of the contents of the notebook, explaining that she was a poet, or as she preferred, “bard.” She described her presence there as research. She said she lived nearby but solitude provided little fodder for writing about real life. Real life was what was happening outside her apartment walls, away from computers and social media. Real life was the interaction of people, telling of stories, laughter, and even the occasional scuffle.
With an endearing apprehension she allowed me to read selected stanzas of her work. Attorneys aren’t known for displaying their softer side, but I was unexpectedly moved by her words. She wrote of the sea, of death, of life, and of love.
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life