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Love Letters
Late last night, as I was finishing up the last of the Glamourkin necklaces for the update, Jenn seated companionably beside me, our feet touching under the table (warm and soft and comfort-filled), I stopped. There were beads in my hand, wire curled about my fingers, and I just...stopped.
A memory hit me hard, and I looked to Jenn, eyes wide: "Sweetheart, what day is it?"
"October twelfth," she replied, lifting her glue covered brush, eyes twinkling. "Why?"
"October twelfth," I repeated, a grin slowly spreading across my face. "Eight years ago...right now..." I glanced at the clock. "This very moment, actually--I was writing a letter."
"The letter," she said, eyes wide, and we both paused and considered that for a long moment. I took her hand, fingers curling over her skin, the skin I know so well, the bones I've memorized, the lines and fingerprints my favorite curves in the world as we interlaced our digits. Eight years ago, in that moment, I could only have dreamed of what I eventually found. For, eight years ago, I was writing a love letter that poured my heart out to Jenn, telling her the truth: how much I loved her, that--in fact--I loved her...not even knowing if she was gay.
Sometimes, I think about everything it took to get here, and I close my eyes and whisper to the Goddess, over and over and over again: thank You, thank You, thank You. If one thing had gone amiss, if one ounce of courage had been misplaced, I never would have found my way here, married to my soul mate, the love of my life, my absolute and shining other half.
Eight years ago, I could only (and did, every second of every day) dream of a love like this. A love that grows, every single day, the soft place to land, the completion of my soul, my wishes, my dreams. She is my world, my stars, my heavenly body, and I am in thrall of her gravity.
I have been married almost two weeks. I have been smitten, in love, in joy for almost eight years.
My very being is a deep gratitude that is beyond definition.
(photo by the incomparable Laura Vasilion~)
A memory hit me hard, and I looked to Jenn, eyes wide: "Sweetheart, what day is it?"
"October twelfth," she replied, lifting her glue covered brush, eyes twinkling. "Why?"
"October twelfth," I repeated, a grin slowly spreading across my face. "Eight years ago...right now..." I glanced at the clock. "This very moment, actually--I was writing a letter."
"The letter," she said, eyes wide, and we both paused and considered that for a long moment. I took her hand, fingers curling over her skin, the skin I know so well, the bones I've memorized, the lines and fingerprints my favorite curves in the world as we interlaced our digits. Eight years ago, in that moment, I could only have dreamed of what I eventually found. For, eight years ago, I was writing a love letter that poured my heart out to Jenn, telling her the truth: how much I loved her, that--in fact--I loved her...not even knowing if she was gay.
Sometimes, I think about everything it took to get here, and I close my eyes and whisper to the Goddess, over and over and over again: thank You, thank You, thank You. If one thing had gone amiss, if one ounce of courage had been misplaced, I never would have found my way here, married to my soul mate, the love of my life, my absolute and shining other half.
Eight years ago, I could only (and did, every second of every day) dream of a love like this. A love that grows, every single day, the soft place to land, the completion of my soul, my wishes, my dreams. She is my world, my stars, my heavenly body, and I am in thrall of her gravity.
I have been married almost two weeks. I have been smitten, in love, in joy for almost eight years.
My very being is a deep gratitude that is beyond definition.
(photo by the incomparable Laura Vasilion~)