love is not an hour portioned out in minutes, there is no start or finish and there is no division into parts. love does not check in and then out, like a guest at an inn.
what i learned from loving you is that i had love all along. before and after the fact of you, there was love. i learned that love is a sheet of paper upon which is written the names of the loved. and you were one name, but not the only.
curled on his chest in the chill of an early winter, the rain soaking the pavement outside and two cats carving out temporary homes on the vast real estate of our bed...i have love. with my breath i etch his name and he strokes my hair and i am content. will you stay and grow old with me? i ask. i feel his nod.
Posted at 7:59 am by xaos