She added three little owls-- the brown one is me, the yellow is my hubby and the baby orange owl is our daughter. There are tigerlilies and caterpillars and purple beetles. And just look at the adorable little fairy door on the back! I absolutely love it.
SweetPixiePie is a fairly new shop, so visit and give her lots of love! The best part about working with her is that she is an amazing person. I had a great experience with her shop.
I spent all of yesterday thinking about your body.
ReplyDeleteBy accident, I had learned that it was, to the day, the sixth-year anniversary of you taking me to an anonymous hotel room, and telling me that I was going to be a father for the first time, permanently, for the rest of time's existence.
That night, I was happy. I was ecstatic and nervous and thrilled. The following morning, too. In those days, eight months was a lifetime: there was plenty of time to get done everything that needed getting done, straighten out everyone of our crooked ways.
Those eight months were work. Compared to the unlivable lifestyles to which we'd made ourselves accustomed, they were work. And reality settled on our shoulders.
If I could relive a piece of my life again, I'd very easily choose those eight months. I wouldn't do hardly a single thing differently, but to better recognize it for what it was, and to enjoy it, fully.
It was, say, November. I worked a little job a thousand miles away from you, and spent the majority of my life in a car. I worked in a little flat one-floor office building, painted the color of stone. You existed in our new, tiny little home, dead in the middle of nowhere. And you grew our baby.
At work, my phone buzzes, and you've sent me a picture: half-dressed in my clothing, shirt half-unbuttoned, displaying the progress of our baby grown inside your sacred body.
Your hair was ropes. Your skirts were soft and homemade and black. You had your one thigh pushed slightly out. Purpose glowed behind your face like dawn.
Everything about you was divine. Did I realize it then? On the morning when you sent me that picture, did I take the time to recognize you for what you were? I don't know, but I doubt it.
But I've look at that picture a million times, since. For hours, I've studied that picture.
The mornings were cold in that uninsulated house in the middle of winter nowhere. To get to my job on time, my alarm went off hours before the sun. I'd growl and bring a heavy fist down on top of the alarm clock. And by the time I'd settled back into where I'd been laying, you were already on top of me. Slowly, but meaningfully. The tangles of your hair dragged across my stomach and your lips touched me skin, warm. Your breasts were heavy with pregnancy and I pressed my hands against them, flat, feeling the liveliness of your nipple play against my palm. We were suddenly not kids anymore, and you crushed your tongue against mine. I felt the mechanism of your new feminine strength, ancient with meaning and purpose, as your hips clockworked and you moved on me, and called out, loud: your voice rolling like song across the cold, still, and silent winter hills outside our bedroom window.
Six years ago.
ReplyDeleteLast night, I stood behind you, naked, cutting your hair in the bathroom while waiting to take a shower. You said I looked skinny and pale, and you worry about me.
You'd gone to bed, and I was downstairs, and you called to me. I found you at the top of the stairs, and you told me to eat, to take care of myself, that you were concerned.
I nodded, and said that I would. I wasn't listening.
You were naked, there, on the top of the stairs: clothed only in shadow and a silver mixture of streetlamp and moonlight. The light played against your skin: it seemed to drip from you, as though you were wet. The curvature of you: your long, powerful legs, your immaculate breasts. The soft hill and valley play of your shoulders, the grace of your throat where I like to taste you when I move inside of you. Your face, the stunning gorgeous face of my wife.
And, now all of these years later, I still fall in love with you. I am always in love with you. I will love you when I'm gone and all of my bones and the mountains have gone to dust. But, last night, and often, and repeatedly, I FALL in love with you. I'm tumbling. I'm spinning through blackness and I can't catch my breath.
I've never met anybody like you. Nobody like you has ever existed before, or will ever again. You're crystal and steam. You're spectacular. I belong to you, fully.