Leaving

 Why is it, years into a drought of deafness, the parting words of leaving finally find the fertile ground they've been searching for?

I had, what I can guess is, the last meeting I will have with a man that used to be my shepherd.

My relationship with him was never what I would have hoped for.

In the end, there seemed very little left to salvage.

I am David.  He is Saul.

The other night, we sat close to each other and began, for the first time, to talk about the circumstances 

that found us in this place of opposition.

In the years I've known him, it may have been the most real conversation we've had.

He was soft and vulnerable in a way I can't remember knowing him to be.

Instead of preparing to count the lies I expected from his lips, 

I sat back and studied his slightly down-turned eyes, the laxity of his jaw countered by protective arms crossed against his chest.

He was wounded.

Later, I could see he was a little lost, too.

I told him most of what he has asked of me, answered what I could... 

Not everything was necessary.

And here is the sad certainty of separation:

For the first time...

he listened.

~Maria