Such a delicate dance. So carefully shared. Is that what we have? How cautious must we be?
When you took my hand so long ago, when you showed me that I was welcome, I can't remember how aware I was of what it meant. I imagine now that some part of me knew, but I was just a boy.
Our love that day was so small and fragile, so new. A light touch of the hand, that was all. Today our love is so tangible. It is this house, this home. It is these children that I love with a ferocity I never had before. It is this roar of laughter and this back-breaking work and all this loud life rumbling together through this world. You can see it and hear it, you could hardly miss it.
But somewhere, deep inside, there is still you and there is still me and, from time to time, you still move your hand slowly into mine, letting me know that I am welcome. I wonder, even now, how aware I am of what it means. I imagine now that some part of me knows, but I am just a man.
Such a delicate dance. So carefully shared. Is that what we have?
Hello, friends. Sorry for my absence. How are you?
Later. Love.
