It can look like a spring rain,

a calming night,

the rainbow stretched across the seas.

It can look like grandchildren,

great-grandchildren filled with energy

or the soft somber sound of their soft snores.

It could be the silly things,,, side by side,

or, it could the here and now

said over countless decades;

a reminder of life’s connection to the heart.

It could be remembering that first hello,

the only “I do”, that matters,

or all the candles on cakes,

blown away in remembrance.

It could be many things,

or it could be just the little things;

the gentle kiss, the holding of one hand.

The choices, decisions we seek,

are ones that remain a lifetime;

the right ones, live happily ever after.

Balancing

a tightrope

heartstrings tug

souls often war

but

one and one

plus hope

(equals

in love)

times faith

endures.

.

Sam wake up.

There’s a loud groan from the other side of the bed. My mouth twitches and I try not to laugh.

Uhhh...

Come on Sam, I need to talk to you.

Can it wait till morning?

No, it’s important.

And you’re not going to let go of this until I say yes?

He asks, his voice muffled, a pillow over his head.

Nope.

I smile and lift myself up, sitting more comfortable. Already knowing I won this round. I bend my legs and lift my knees closer to my face.

Oh just speak woman.

He groans irritated, his voice still muffled. Nose deep in the mattress.

Now, you know how I am with words.

I state the obvious. He already knew that about me all too well, and how hard it was for me to open up about my feelings.

Never stopped you from talking though.

He mumbles and I throw my pillow over his head. Smiling at him as he starts to groan louder, sounding more like an angry bear rather than my soft-hearted husband.

Hey, you’re very abusive today!

He shouts out, complain in his voice.

Oh really?

I ask lifting an eyebrow, trying to sound cold.

Yes. First of all, you wake me up...

He turns his head from under the pillow and narrows his eyes, looking at the clock.

...at 2:45 a.m... which is the middle of the night, if you didn’t know.

Oh I know, trust me.

And then you abuse me, not a very good wife behavior, if you ask me.

He states and pulls the covers over his head. Only one leg and one arm sticking out. I roll my eyes and shake my head. He was such a big baby sometimes, but I still loved him anyway.

If you would have let me say what I wanted to say, you would be already sleeping by now.

Sleeping you say... I didn’t know that was an option anymore.

Can I start?

I ask, nerves starting to creep over me.

Oh by all means, please - he says then ads more quietly - don’t let me stop you.

I ignore his statement and let myself relax a bit before I start. I was never a person who could express her feelings easily. Never the romantic and all over the place kind of person. Actually, Sam was the one who always said the right things, picking perfect moments for the sobby, romantic gestures. Another thing I loved about him, his heart was so big, that it had enough feelings for both of us. He was better with words and as for me, I preferred doing stuff rather than talking about them. Showing him what he meant to me, rather than throwing declarations, just not my style. I take a deep breath and begin.

Just let me finish first, okay?

Anything you desire, my queen.

He says, sounding more amused now.

Very funny, really. I just wanted to tell you - a low sigh - what you mean to me.

I think I might already have a clue.

You promised.

I say, pointing a finger at him, as he glances for a second from the covers. One eye staring at me, a small smile lurking out.

Okay, okay... I won’t say a thing.

Good. Now, where was I ? I’m just... so happy with you, that somehow we got to be together. And no, that’s not all I wanted to say. Mmm, I feel so at ease when you’re with me. There’s this comfort, this deep sense of serenity... and you know how I am, I have all of these sharp edges and thorns sticking out, and yet you still love me. Even though I possess so many flaws that irritate other people. All those little things that drive my family crazy... and then I’m with you and it no longer matters.

My lips twitch again.

...because you’re just as irritating as I am.

I say this and gently touch his arm, that’s sticking out of the covers. Slipping my hand against his skin. Fingers stroking it, going up and down. My mind drifting through different thoughts. My brain everywhere at once as I continue my little speech.

Sometimes when we’re together you just look at me and I can’t help but smile. Grinning like a idiot - my head shakes as I inhale deeper - It’s ridiculous... and yet it feels so good. You make me feel safe, like there is nothing more to fear in the world. I mean, we aren’t perfect. We fight a lot, we have different opinions on pretty much everything, and yet when we’re together...

I stare at him and smile. Feeling a warm sensation somewhere inside of my heart. I was so crazy about this idiot. I bend down and kiss his shoulder, enjoying the musky smell of his hot skin under my lips... and then I lift my eyebrow again, having a nasty suspicion.

You aren’t sleeping now, are you??

I ask slowly, my voice turning dark. He lifts himself up on his side and stares at me, and the way he looks at me sends an automatic heat to my chicks. Honestly, after five years of marriage, you would think I was past this faze. The blushing bride. Oh, come on. Me, the strong confident woman, behaving like a teenager. I stare at him and finally smile again.

And what are you thinking about?

He grins at me and pulls me closer to him. Kissing me with so much intensity that I lose my breath for a moment... and then I can feel his playful smile under my lips and I start to giggle. We were just like two kids having the time of our lives, absurd in every way.

Now, this is my kind of conversation.

Oh?

I ask putting my hands around his neck.

Uhmm... you already know how I feel, everything else I can show you.

How very true, then show me...

______

Alright, so this one is an oldie actually. I wrote it bit over 2 years ago and founded it again in my drafts a couple of days ago, did some editing work, and wanted to share it once more.

diapers is what happens. they have sleeplessness, they have hurried runs to the doctor.

there will be little time for hobbies like proseing. they will miss EVERYTHING coming out on the screen.

they will have monthes od endless months of anxiety. is this normal? is this the right color? is it too runny?

why isn’t she eating?!

why isn’t she eating?!?!

why isn’t she eating?!?!!!?!?!?!?!

white nights, black coffee,

green days, white pills.

then , slowly, the new creation will turn her attention, and starts on solids.

it first the stuff will be bland. white glue.

they will stand over the sink, cleaning the congealed mess, and the curiosity overcomes: bland as starch glue.

then, slowly addatives come in. sweet fruit. seseme paste. it smells like a milkshake, but still look like glue.

but it tastes like hazlenut and banana!

is it wrong to steal? to hope there will be a little leftover? she should eat as much as you can get her to.

but it's so good!

you cant turn meat and sweat potato mash, or humus , or tomato juice with yogurt.

you tell yourself it's the economy. can't waste food when others go hungry. only you ate a hurried dinner before.

will this heaven end?

will this hunger be fed?

why can't grownup stuff for lunch taste like cheesecake?!

why?!

why?!?!

they lived happily ever after?

I wouldn't know. the baby needs a change.

When I'm older I want an old garden—I want it with you; whoever you are—I want glass and old roots in dirt scattered in the ground from rundown decaying greenhouses—I want squash from long dead vegetable gardens to sprout and surprise us—more than the flowers I want to sit with you on rocking chairs during the first days of spring watching the overgrown forsythia bushes bloom sunshine—birdsong filtering into our souls while our fingertips brush against one another’s—I want to look at you and love you—I want to hear you say when you look at the earth "we have a lot of work to do, if we want to make it grow.”

They washed their sheets every two weeks and opened the windows on warm sunny days. Their house had many smells – vanilla, baking bread, clean laundry, books, coffee and tea in the mornings – but shame was not one of them.

The walls knew laughter, even when paint peeled and dirt splattered. Souls and plants were kept alive, fed, and loved. Sadness was not locked up in musty basements or dark cupboards. It showed its face on sleepless nights and days with too much light, but it was welcomed with warm blankets and listening ears.

There were jokes told in words and subtle movements. There was friendship so strong it cracked ribs and made eyes glisten. There was hope for the future and peace for the past.

Home was the place they lived and the bodies they lived in.

They continued to meet the challanges of life together, supporting each other when they could, and, in gratitude, bore witness to one anothers growth. They came to see themselves as growing each day; so as not to outshine that which sheds light.

They came to appreciate their differences and shortfalls. And also the impermanance of life. They sought further with the strength they had together and discovered themselves. From the demons that, too, had red blood in their veins - to the innocent whose blood is drained before they had an after. They came to see themselves in all things and all people; so as not to shroud that which needs light.

Together they wept all of their tears,

and together, laughed of all their joy.