I’ve mentioned my fiance, CJ, quite a few times throughout this blog thus far, but never in any great detail. And that’s how he would want it, I’m quite sure. It was my dear and talented blogging compatriot, Mister Peace, who, with a comment on my Unplugged post, made me ruminate once again on how very amazing CJ is, and how very amazing what I share with him is. I know that in him I have found my twin flame. Our lives had these incredible parallels before we met. We look the same despite the height difference! We can’t stand to be apart. We were born on the same day. We share a bond that grew so deep so fast that we still marvel at the ‘bubble’ that surrounds us. We are blessed and we are blissful. Here’s an infinitesimally minute portion of how I feel about him:
It’s so gentle; this love. So unremarkable in its lack of drama that sometimes I’m left wholly amazed by how simple it is. And therein lies its beauty; your beauty. The sheer purity of it all. It doesn’t sparkle. It has no frills. And yet, the grace of it dazzles me. I look at you, at the dent I have made across your right side, the side where I lay at night. My cheek on your chest. My breasts cuddled up to the warm flesh over your ribs. My hip sidled up to your waist like a chastised child seeking forgiveness and comfort. My leg bent across your thick thigh. The arch of my foot resting on the wide muscle of your calf, with room for more if ever we duplicate ourselves and all rest together. This is home now, this cradle I have dug out for myself in your flesh. This is more home to me than my house with its modern comforts and its gentle sighs; a home that holds us together in the quiet dark before the dawn. This is more home to me than my own skin, which, as I grow more creased and lined, feels less like myself and more like a stranger taking up residence on the outskirts of my soul. This is more home to me than my own breath that now only truly feels authentic when it is mixed with your own. And flung across the left of you is my right arm, my palm cupped around your chest, the rivers of lines that run through it listening to your heartbeat like a tributary listens for the sea.