Thursday December 19, 2019
Love is the the way that your best friend hugs you when they know you are coming off a hot streak of bravery, palm pressed between your shoulder blades, familiar sweet breath in your ear. Love is the dishes getting done, not by you. Love is the sound of a new voice, a new old voice, a voice that you’ve never heard before but is instantly familiar. Love is the birds at the feeder in the winter garden, small hands pressed against the window, sunlight reviving the spots that are dark. Love is the smell of cheese melting, picking the crunchy bits off the edges of the pan. Love is raspberries in the morning, before the sun rises, before the day has fully arrived, a spray of spit and joy frosting your arm and calling you home.