It’s soooo gooooood to be back home. Spent almost all day with my boyfriend. We watched “Forrest Gump”, which I had never seen before, and also for reasons I shall not explain, is a very special movie for us. We finally did it.
What a good sleep I’ll have tonight.
I love this boy. I love, I love, I love him.
My boy knows best.
And you are loved, my love.
Soon (:
I just noticed.
You’re wearing the bracelet tonight.
I remember a very cold, icy kiss on top of a mountain. I remember when we fell asleep watching the third “Lord of the Rings”, and I woke up with you wrapped around me.
“You would kiss me all over and make everything feel better.”
— <3
Missing A Lot
I’m missing a lot of things.
I miss pumpkin spices and hot apple cider.
I miss days spent at the orchards picking the seasonal crop.
I miss the brisk winds and the silver lighting.
I miss the first colored leaves; the first snowflake.
I’m missing a lot of things.
I’m mostly missing you.
I feel you.
Your pain is mine.
Before Sleep
I’m up because I can’t sleep. My mind is racing, spinning, whirling—careening towards corners where devils hide. My lungs begin to ache and my legs stiffen, but it really isn’t that bad. How could anything be bad in a place like this?
The green is infectious. Every breath I take is like a drink of wet moss and ferns and wet maple leaves hanging low with climbing ivy. It replenishes and fills me to the brim with its precious rarity, a value that I’ve come to respect and adore. It prepares me for the bone dry desert I will return to.
But for now I lie in my bed, listening to my left, enjoying the comfort of company in the dark. Tomorrow will bring a new kind of adventure, unleashed and free.
Early Thunder
And how I remember that moment.
How I always will.
Just us.
And thunder.
Perfect.
Got out of those shoes.
Banquet was especially awesome this year. I’m very pleased with all of the awards and nominations and costumes/tuxedos/dresses everyone came in. And I’m especially proud of my boyfriend, who received a rare and special award for all of his hard work.
Only, I wish I could see him now. But that moment under the tree was nice. Really… really nice.
One Year
The excitement that sparked, the idea that bloomed, the shyness of hands, the redness of cheeks, and the eagerness of words have never left. They have quieted from a churning storm to a cool breeze. A fresh flower is just as beautiful as an ancient oak, and their stories each carry wisdom. With days and weeks come and gone, the seasons have passed us by with the swiftness of bounding deer. Now we look at the seasons passing from our worn front porch, still young in its sturdy life enough to hold both of us through the storms to come. Our rocking chairs creak and sway, but the warmth that they bring still sets butterflies fluttering down my legs.
