This morning, all I could muster after a too-busy weekend with houseguests and rainstorms were these few lines written in dark ink, the words running together as water dripped from my hair.
I throw myself into the face of the day waiting like an expectant martyr to be handed alms or be run over.
Iâ€™m at that point right now, before things feel easy, but after things have been at the hardest part. Itâ€™s that point between exhaustion and sweetness. That point at the end of being sick for a full week, and not having had two nights of solid sleep in a row---but after spending an evening in the curve of DHâ€™s arm, watching firelight and making love so many times. We celebrated our anniversary todayâ€”-waking up to a leak in a pipe in the wall above the kitchen sink and a sick baby.
But we also woke up to another day together. Another day where what I wrote to him when we were first together, still rings true. Now more than ever: your hand fits the curve of my hand and your mind fits the curve of my mind.