An Ode to My Husband
There’s something amazing about the way you held our baby in your arms. The curve of your bicep, the gentleness of your hands. When I looked at your face I could see wonder, contentment. The face of a man who had never seen magic before.
I adore you.
Sometimes, when we first met, I used to imagine what it would be like to have a child together. White linen perfect, these ponderings would have us wandering on a beach, my skirt floating in the wind, your jeans turned up to escape the surf. And though these daydreams seemed perfect, they dull against the reality that’s you.
Perfect is too prosaic a word. It’s the jagged little failings that make you amazing. The ones we cut our fingers on. The ones that bleed. The harsh words that escape in the drugged half-light. The way we’d beg each other to take this one. Just this one.
Together, we burned. And together, we rose again.
The perplexing thing about children is they grow. Cell by cell, they replicate, obliterate. Take up space in the world where once there was nothing. Like bubbles, they expand, drift, move away from us. Until all we can do is stand together and watch as they float up into the sky.
And say, “We made this.”
When I look at you now, I still see the boy. He’s become a man. It isn’t age that’s made him this way, but experience. Love. The patience that people so rarely exhibit.
I love you.
It’s too easy to say. To write it. But the emotion is in every cell in my body. I breathe it, exhale it, can’t do anything but live it. The world is a better place because you are there.
Because you are mine.
I’ll always be yours.