incompletely

I incompletely cried three times today. The man in the pew in front of us in church collapsed during the middle of the second hymn this morning. He hit the bench hard. He was gray, stiff, unresponsive. We got out of the way of the stretcher and my eyes welled up because of the people who knew how to help and the way they darted over before the verse had ended. And later, after lunch, a perfect quartet made my eyes water. The incredible, crisp richness of four people breathing through their horns together. They rehearsed a romantic piece, the swoony sort. Soprano, alto, tenor, bari. I shivered from my seat off to the side, waiting, wanting more. And then tonight, after all that came between--after a walk through the spring hills and a long hour sitting in tall grass left over from last summer, after a meal with my new family and food so good I kept reaching for more, after time and time again with my lips brushing up against his--S and I were on the couch, watching Futurama, sipping a strong drink, the smell of clean laundry filling the room, and as the time wore on and the drink sunk in I leaned down until my head was on his lap and I fell asleep quickly and shallowly and when a half hour later his laughter woke me, my eyes had run together, pooled on his leg. Crying without words, without thought. That's a good ending.