Him

Him.

A simple touch of our hands as we walk through a store.  The bumping into each other while cooking breakfast or getting dressed for work.  The lolligaging of sofa time when my legs flop over his.

Every inch of him is embedded in my mind—from the squint of his left eye when he laughs, to the way his hair sticks up wildly after sleep, to the strength of his shoulders, to his intense eyes while he creates, to the calloused hands of a man who is not afraid to work hard.

Somewhere this infatuation has meshed with a contentment which has created a bliss I could never have imagined.

I like to think I am strong, independent and need no completion. I have believed for years that despite attempts  I need no other, no better half, no partner. I am a full and complex being just as I am.

Nothing has ever tipped my world upside down like this.

He is the balm that soothes my aches.  He is the foundation when I am unsteady.  He is my source of safety and groundedness.  He offers the insights that I often need to stay on course.

Together there is trust.  Trust that any intentional pain or heartache will never be inflicted.  Trust that truth will always be spoken.  Trust that everyday will be experienced with authenticity and gratitude.

In the night he rolls over and reaches for me, tucks an arm around me, pulls me close.  I do not push this love away. Instead, I know that I have earned these rights.

To be held closely and safely. To receive.

To be loved through and through–unconditionally, and then over again.

To be at peace.

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