She just left for work.
It is my first propper day off since she arrived.
I don't have a bunch to do, just some things around the house. So I'm lazy for a bit, shit around on the internet, look at stuff that makes me laugh, find a web site, that kind of stuff.
But mostly I think.
I think about her.
About the journey that we have been on.
How this is the most insane way to enter a relationship ever. But that I have never been happier with someone. That this time I don't feel like I'm settling, or that I'm jumping in to quick, or that I have something to hide from her. I open this page and I want to write, but I just stare. My mind is jumbled and weak. Not the kind of sharpness that I would need to write this down, not the kind of mindset to look and put to words.
-
In the light of our "dark" apartment, her hair looks purple.
She is sitting on top of me in bed and we are having a conversation about the colours that we have dyed our hair. Mine are all primary: blue, green, red, black. Her's have names like Black Cherry, and the like. She is beautiful. Here and now. In this place and not leaving.
We cook for each other.
We clean house.
We go to work.
We see the kids.
We live.
And in this moment, in this light, she looks like a movie. She looks like a dream, a fantasy, she looks like the novel that is in my mind, like the pictures I use for this blog, she looks like music, and bookshelves full of Bukowski, Bourdain, and Vonnegut. She looks like "her," like "she," like home.
-
I couldn't figure out lines, and words this morning.
I grabbed a book, took a left out the front door down Washington. Soon I was at Colfax. Making my way to Pete's Cafe. It is a hole in the wall, and I haven't eaten there before, but it seems like the right idea. Simple food, coffe, a book, and some humanity. People moving back and forth, talking and living their day to day. There are people here like anywhere else. And I am soaking them in.
There is some kind of comfort there, in just seeing people. People that aren't like you, or that are like you but in a different way. Hard workers chatting before they go to work. Old men hunched over the paper, and coffee. This is the city.
I've said before that there is opportunity here. That there is hope. Renewal some how this place makes me whole. I've always wanted to be here, to live this life. And now I am.
-
She is there in bed right next to me.
It is morning, and she is grumbly about waking up. About getting out of bed, about leaving for work.
But this is life. And we may linger in bed a little longer than we should. And we may not want to detach for, "five more minuets." But we do. And it is right. Right to get a chance to be alone and think and relax. And revel, in the fact that today is another day with her. Another in a long line of days.
-
I walk home. Bourdain rolling through my mind. These words rolling through my mind.
I sit and the blank screen fills.
As always the blank screen fills up with life well lived, and at least mostly good (just for you Me., just for you).
To You:
Good morning, today, and tomorrow, and for a very long time.
Good morning.
File under Virtue.
1 comment:
Wella black cherry #367, to be specific. Punky Colour & Manic Panic's Magenta, granny smith apple, Atlantic blue, fire engine red, & plum. Brown, blonde (unfortunately), black, and henna that turned it orange (what a disaster). Every shade of red known to man.
This mundane story, and so much more, I'll share with you. Je t'adore, mon coeur. The world is finally told. <3
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