She’s on a plane

IMG_4192She’s on a plane and I’m sitting at a coffeeshop, after two and a half days together, days full of everything and nothing, time alone and walks with the dog in the springtime woods, breakfast with sisters and quick hugs from best friends, spaghetti for dinner and Joe Pug hymns in bed and impromptu photoshoots at country stores, Emily Dickinson’s grave and the chickens at cohousing, her eyes moonstones powerful enough to turn the ocean tides, a visit to my new apartment and a vision board for our future together.

She’s on a plane and I cried after we kissed goodbye curbside, blasted music on the drive west home, so glad I followed the light, so glad I wrote that list two years ago describing my dream woman, so glad I fell in love with myself first, so glad she tells me all the stories of her grandfather, her babies’ births, her choice to leave anger behind and live, so in love with her kindness and mind, her heart against my hand, my hand against her soft cheek, our lives each a thousand puzzle pieces that fit together as if by design, grateful for every moment, the right turn instead of the left turn, the crazy trusting sixteen months ago that we just knew, and that this was actually the antidote to crazy– sane, spacious, and easy.

She’s on a plane and I’m here again, not left behind but left believing in goodness, in love.

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