My Darling J

To my darling J,

I think I can hear the birds singing and you just left for work on a Monday (nothing to write home about) and I'm sitting at my desk looking at the corner where the wall meets the window and don't you think that's a little like love?

Love is that place where the walls between two people become invisible, a corner where my reality and your reality intersect—entwined in each other and inextricable yet distinct and vibrant and similar but not the same.

It's that stray thought of your face as the steam rises from my morning coffee that leaves your visage etched on the back of my eyelids so when I need to retreat I can simply close my eyes and visit that corner where your strength holds my weak spots together.

Love is that silver-thin sliver of sanctuary and peace you find between the beats of the birdsong and our hearts as the sun still sleeps and our son does not.

I think we like to pretend that love is grandiose because it's powerful, but that power is in the multitudes of mundane moments where love lives—flakes of snow that build into an avalanche over the course of a lifetime.

Does my face adorn your eyelids, I wonder?

Infinitely yours,

C