Winged Road
A million miles away from me lives my boyfriend of three and a half years now. I’m talking West Hollywood, Los Angeles. I live in a little village in the Netherlands. We met online, got chatting and moved on to Skype.(All people in long distance relationships love Skype) One day he invited me to come and visit him. I did in August, about 5 months after our first contact online. I got off the plane, went through customs, got my suitcase and wheeled it out into arrivals at LAX, where Tod was waiving like a madman for me to notice him. We hugged, got to the car and during the drive home we held hands and just kind of never let go again.
But we have yet to find a way to get me into America permanently. Gays aren’t allowed to get married and I have no special skills that are worth getting a green card for. I’m not rich and I’m not politically in danger. And unlike in the movies, love doesn’t move mountains when it comes to bureaucracy.
Any way in is only temporary, how am I to say I will be with you forever, when I’m not allowed by law to be with him forever? Does that seem right to you? How do we make love move bureaucracy out of the way?
The winged road
What if I flap my wings
and search the skies for
the road to you?
What if I find you
sitting at a window table in an Irish pub
trying to hear
every single drop of rain
that splashes against the window?
Will I stare at you
from that dark corner
across the dimlit square?
Will I be such a cliché?
What if I search the skies
for the winged road
that leads to you
again
and again
and again?
How many corners can I occupy
before you notice me
in between all those raindrops?
Again and again
I search the winged road in the skies
for the what-if’s
that lead to you
And for some reason
that road
always leads to me
trying to see you
listening to every drop of rain
that splashes against the window
of that warmly lit Irish pub
in the dark corners of that square.
Always leads to me
wishing that one day
you will let me sit beside you
so we can listen to the rain
together.
