I want to come downstairs and see you sitting there, tucked into a chair with tea in your hand. Are you a book person, too? It seems like you might be. Maybe you'll be at the end of your day, maybe your eyes would brighten when I step into your space. I'm used to bringing people things: service, care, gifts, food, how can I help? I love all these things, I love making your life easier, more fluid. More room for smiling and laughter, perhaps. It's a new idea for me that maybe I bring these things to people because I need to add "more" in order to have the offering of myself be...enough.
In this room though, I'm all the way enough. You reach out to me for me and smile when I run my fingers through your close cropped hair. I love how you smell like the woods, like camping and storm wind. It reminds me of that time in the tent, do you remember? We had each brought our own tent, but scrambled to get just the one set up before the rain rolled in. Thunder cracked directly overhead and we tumbled ourselves through the door, legs all tangled up. Couldn't stop laughing. Turns out we didn't need two tents after all.
