(I know this picture is already making David nervous.)
On Friday morning, I was reading when David woke up. He rolled over, pushed his nose into my neck, and asked me how my book was. I read a few passages to him, reveling in the magic way the words and sentences and paragraphs unfolded in front of me. We lay there in the quiet, with the sun streaming in the windows, I reading, he asking questions. The conversation wound around and drew out and he told me about work and his new boss, dialoguing his recent days at the hospital. And we talked there for almost two hours, before he decided he better go make a living and I thought I ought to make the bed. This simple, intimate dialogue was the greatest blessing of my week. A moment of connectedness amid a life of sprawl. Like Lindbergh's double sunrise. I was stunned by the sudden pleasure of having a conversation alone with the man I fell in love with. I am so grateful this week for "the little room," "a world unto itself," created between us as we stole a couple hours from real life and just talked.
(Okay, there was a bit of kissing as well.)