How To Tell Time

You know, Dar, your hair was always so dark at the beginning. I used to use the color as my hourglass: the lighter it got, the less time we had left. It would evolve from a coffee shade to a dark caramel and although each shade was beautiful, I found myself becoming attatched to the darker hues. I used to shield you from the sun, towards the end, as if I could somehow prevent the next color from appearing. I thought I was so clever. You used to say, but Dovick, it's so pretty outside can't we swim or go to the meadow. I would argue that those adventures would be more enchanting by moonlight. Sunlight, I used to say to you, was to harsh, obnoxious even.  You tried everything you could to convince me. Once you even began to undress. You said with such perfect frankness, come outside and we can make love in the warmth of the afternoon, beneath the birch trees that border the river. I tried my best to avoid your eyes. I was still a boy then, nineteen. Dovick, you whispered, give into me and I did, of course I did, you were seventeen and sure and I loved you.

I thought I could freeze time. I was young. You would go for walks with Cova and Tali and I would chase after you with a hat in my hands for you to wear. Let Dar walk in the shade, I would tell them. I used to suggest that you begin your walks at sunset. I wanted to preserve your ironic fragility, the paleness of your skin, the way your indigo veins were visible, a characteristic that always clashed with your vitality. Dov, darling, can you at least crack the shutters? I just want to feel the sun, for just a moment, you would say. Or it's night time, open the windows. No, I can still see the sun. That is the moon. It is the sun. I swear it's the moon.  You're silly, Dar. No, really, listen, I hear an owl. That is a lark.

I finally had to explain it to you after you asked me, Dov, don't you want me to be happy? Of course, I do, but I also want you to be sad. Why would you ever want that? Because I am sad. You are not sad, you are smiling. I am still sad. Why? Your hair changes colors did you know that? No I didn't know that, but Dov, I don't see how this relates to what we're talking about. When I first met you, your hair was a deep brown and now it's more of a caramel. Dov, you're not making sense. It symbolizes the passing of time; your hair getting lighter means that we are closer to the end then to the beginning. Now, who said anything about ends, you asked as you touched my cheek. Stories end, you said, rather ambigiously at times but they end. But love isn't a story; it doesn't have to end. Why are you so wonderful? Because I love you, that's why; you make me wonderful.

It was in this fashion that we lived together for two years and I know if I tell you that it was perfect you won't believe me, because in this life we are constantly told that things can never be perfect, but it was, it really was, and I'm not just saying that because I loved you and you loved me (that is just a minor detail like all of the thousands of dots of color that make up one of Monet's watercolors). I am saying that because it truly, honestly, unabashedly was a series of 730 pefect moments and I have never been happier or sadder since.