And the love is ever growing, all knowing and all consuming. I know him better than I know myself, and yet somehow he’s a stranger. His eyes are bright and his face is changing. He’s stretching and lengthening and listening and looking and looking all of the time. He knows who he is but who he is is still an ever unfolding mystery. A circle within a circle leading home. He is a miracle and a mystery and I am walking a path with him I have always been on and never want to get off. And I never will. He is an always. And this is love.
Somehow, impossibly, 14 weeks. Giggling, gurgling, blowing bubbles and raspberries. Pulling his head up on his belly.
Well it’s magnificent, I surely assure you. It’s bright and beautiful and blissful and wild and weird and always surprising and splendid. Those are just words. But the present is present and full and real and always gurgling and giggling and grunting and smiling such smiles. Such sweet ones. He is a bundle of light and he is the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
If I could meet you in the morning, I would. Raise the misty skies to the new horizon and chase you down the path to the edge of the sea. To the edge of the sea I’d see all new great dawns being born. I’d do it again. I’d do it again. I’d do it all right this time. I’d come to you clean and clear and without so much wind in my hair. Just breathless and open and ready to be ready to be found and lost and buried underground. I’d be healed and I’d be whole and we’d walk, we’d walk together towards that infinite shore that was always lapping up around us. We’d find the time and we’d erase the time and we’d start over. We’d start over. And we’d know that we don’t know that we can never know how it will end but we should always know that we know each other more than we can say.