Time Is Another Place

A few short days ago I was witness to a 25th Anniversary and a wedding. They were the same event involving the same two people.

Such is life and marriage for same-sex couples in America.

I was present—and Present. We were all present and Present and there was nowhere else and no one else, even though it was City Hall on a thronging, thrumming Monday Midday.

Such is love and solemnity in San Francisco.

In the days that followed, off by myself, to myself, with myself, status quo: myself, another anniversary: Allen Howland tonight, in a couple of hours from now exactly….dead nineteen years. It’s the only time I look back, this day every year, strange as that sounds for how much I’ve written here about him, about us. About then. But yes, it’s the only time I look back.

All the rest? Time looks back at me; I just record it.

What do I see when I look back? My vision fails, details slip, fade, hide. At a distance only its Principle can be seen. He’s gone.

Love and marriage. Life and solemnity. Only I remain.