the miracle and the fact.
It had been a day of phantom reality. I made my way through our front door feeling heavy, weighed down with so-called facts I could never venture to prove or disprove, places in the world I've never seen, photos I'm not skilled enough to capture and outfits I could never afford.
One of your records was playing from the spare bedroom to my left, pumping psychedelic air and chaotic drum fills through the house. I wasted no time, coming straight to where you slept flat on your back, fully dressed, your legs hanging off the side of our messy bed. You looked as if you had only meant to sit there for a second, but sleep had crept up, pulling you backwards into spontaneous slumber. I dropped my purse and jacket, slipped out of my shoes and curled up, very cat-like, as close to you as I could be. The covers felt cool against my skin as I rested my face in the crook of your neck. I relaxed instantly, inhaled the familiar scent of our Queen-sized cocoon, along with your beard - a mixture of pine and old books. How did you do this? How could one's facial hair smell so heavenly? Like a walk in the woods and an afternoon spent with fine literature written by dead people.
Your eyes opened, all peaceful and pleased to see me. Smiling, you took a deep breath and pulled me onto your chest. It always surprised me, how small I felt here. After a lifetime of feeling awkward, too long, tall, gangly, in your presence I felt so precious and petite it seemed like your arms might wrap around me twice. They didn't, of course. That would be ridiculous.
We mumbled our "hello's" and "how-was-your-day's," but were mostly content with silence, as people so accustomed to one another tend to be. There was dinner to make and you had promised to take me into the foothills to photograph fall before all of the leaves and light were gone, but we didn't rush. I think I told you once how sometimes, when I'm burrowed close to you, I like to close my eyes and listen to your heart thunking away inside of your chest. It reminds me of the reality of you - A tangible being with a heart and mind of his own, suiting me so completely and asserting his own free will to remain in my company until the end of our days. It grounds me, chases away the phantoms, brings me back to the miracle and the fact that you love me in spite of the rest of existence.
Which is nothing I would ever need to prove.