I let reality wake me this morning. with my head still on the pillow, crystallized white shimmers twinkled and flew by the window. warm face on a warmer pillow, i listened to the gentle resting breaths of the person beside me. so familiar was the face, so connected are our lives, so much in love with the human form next to me.
endlessly dripping toilet. the hum of the refrigerator. clicking heater. home sounds. tucking my feet under extra folds of crinkly cotton comforter, i listen to the scree-ing of branches scraping the frosted windows. outside winter was celebrating with another round of snow, ice and blasting shivering cold. i inhaled deeply, my nose not yet cleared from the dryness of a blowing furnace-warmed room, and placed a hand on the muscled flesh beside me. scattered freckles, dry, overworked hands, prickle stubbled face. bright white cotton tee shirt holding it all in, giving his shoulders, arm and back soft comfort.
my hair is constructed into its usual bun. my face is worn and weather beaten. dry. dry. everything is dry. parched lips, craving bubblegum or lemonade flavored lip balm. tired eyes. i am not the age of my body. too many pounds, muscles unused, neglectful habits, under appreciated flesh. overeager mind trapped in an ungainly, unworkable body. my eyes trying to answer the questions my brain seeks.
“why does he love me?”
“am i good enough?
“am i deserving?”
“how did i get so lucky?”
nine years. nine years of a combined life with this freckly person next to me. short hair, always short, the color of champagne after it has lost it’s bubble. lines of worry, denting his beautiful face, caused by money stress, job stress, responsibility stress, too-much-on-his-shoulders stress, it-has-to-get-better stress. i wonder if those weathered lines will disappear when the money worry is gone. will mother nature erase the damage? will she unfold the creases? will she show kindness on a weary face? does life apologize to those who have tried so hard to succeed? we never get the chance to go back, those that have suffered, those who wade through life’s shit; those among the others in the world that carve our paths through stone.
my mind goes through the TO DO list for today, turning pages as in a child’s flip book. and i glance over at him again, stealing just one more moment of his quiet beauty.