I’m ready to end this honeymoon.
Most people struggle to find ways to keep the flame burning. But I look forward to the day I’m in your arms basking beneath the final flicker. I want to revel in the darkness of domestication, the white noise of your snore, the look of your bedhead, the taste of your unwashed mouth.
Passion is perfect but finding love in the little things is where the real light shines through. It’s the way you stir your coffee, the littlest laughs at a television show you’ve seen a hundred times before. It’s the way you cradle the dog, the carefree way you carry yourself in public. You order so I don’t have to. You ask so I don’t need to. It’s how you know when to be distant without dislocating, to be close without being clingy.
As the temperature taxis into temperament, I realize it’s the nuances that narrate our love. We can take our heads off on a Sunday afternoon and lie in bed for hours, talking or silent, slowly slipping into a space of dreams and deep relaxation. Your warm body pressed against mine is all I need.
It’s a hug over the morning’s hash, a kiss over the night’s coffee. Your symphony voice. Your amusement park mind. The strength of your conviction. The bite of your humor. Shakespeare and slashers, French bistros and seedy dive bars, romance and rope bound tight. Multi-faceted, fantastic, and free.
Love is a quiet soldier, marching with a steadfast hope that it will protect the good and transform the wicked. It does not fight with slander but penetrates with protection. It marches, treads, crawls and wades to get to the heart of those it has chosen. It eventually pours over everything, purifying and perfecting in its own way. It does not punish but praises. It does not attack but encourages. It only fights to free us from our own demons. It encompasses each one of us then sets out to find another unsettled soul. We are the vehicles that carry it across sea and sky.
You carried this soldier to me. You convinced me to open my door and let it inside, to unlace its boots and lay down its weapon. It came a long way to find me and now it’s able to settle, to rest, to make a home here. And it allowed me to find rest myself.
Don’t be mistaken that our hearts are ever halved. We are whole and love comes to remind us that we’ve always been fully formed. It uses others to empower us to feel it for ourselves. You tell me with your hands and mouth, with your gestures of kindness, of care, of consultation. You push me to be better, encourage me to be bolder, and love me for all that I am and in spite of all that I have yet to achieve. I feel safer when you’re near, marching along in life with you as my armor, plated with protection, satisfaction, and the security I am no longer lost in this world.
When the decoration of honors and medals melt away, when the soldier leaves for the next assignment, it’s just us in the quiet morning light. We are left to breathe on our own, to soak in the safety of knowing the other will not leave this bed, that years degrade skin and mind but not heart. For love takes the lead and propels us forward through the sadness and sickness. It’s there with a hand to hold, a mouth to kiss, an ear to listen, each part perfected for its partner. It’s presence. It’s practice. It’s a feeling, an emotion, a compulsion that will not wither and die but will soldier on, endlessly.