Past Mid-day

It is a day beautiful.

Rain when I woke up. Failed to get out of bed, his arms held me, and his body was warm, and. He is my love.

I held him and thought how beautiful it was to do so.

Yesterday, in a bar, a friend came to greet us. An acquitance, I should say. I know him, but no more than his first name, which is not his name of course. Throw back to the bad old days. But one has to respect a person’s privacy.

I asked the friend who he was going out with these days.

He shook his head, despondent in the gloom. No one special. Dismissively. The boys were just not serious. Jokingly, I told him he needed to make a connection. If he did not risk it, he never would be able to. He shook his head. I was very lucky, he told me. I was lucky that now me and my lover are like brothers. I objected, strenuously. I would not do with my brother what my lover and I had done in bed Sunday morning.

He laughed, we laughed.

But the conversation had become too heavy, and he was not comfortable.

Yes, I know I am lucky.

Lucky to be me, lucky to live in this country, to call it home.

The rain has stopped. But the grey overhang still is. Cannot say I can point to where the sun is. That heavy, the cloud curtain. The rain has stopped, but the drizzle is. A reminder. The leaves of the trees stir in the breeze, and the air is sharp, clean, cold.

It is criminal to be indoors, but that is something that I may not have much control over. Have to look out the windows longingly. Wish to be out in the pure, cold air outside, breathing in the beauty of the day.

A guava tree in our compound, a big one. That tough hardwood gnarled and twisted with age. The water has made some interesting patterns on the bark, a painting, abstract that I will not try to fathom. Except that it is, and it is beautiful.

Life is beautiful that way, so simply, uncomplicatedly beautiful.

Have a good day.

GayUganda