We have our idiosyncrasies.
Sometimes I truly hate him, so much I want to tackle him and his fucking heavy-lifting frame with my 50 kilograms.
Other days he makes me purr, no-one’s ever done it before.
I could live wrapped around him like a tiny monkey, my arms around his neck and my face in his back…a living backpack.
Better place to sit on his lap and err…well…
I adore him when he drives delicately my chevrolet darling, when he lends me his shirts to use as pajamas (even his defeated look when this happens), his wardrobe, the quality of the morning light through his kitchen window, his cooking, the rings of smoke he blows when he’s thinking hard.
The smile when he understands he’s winning big, the way he goes for it like there’ll be no tomorrow.
How he walks in after we have a fight, totally aplomb.

Ti is still him.
I am still me.
We just walk side by side down the same road.
Happy & Glorious.

Fin.

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Photo by Ale Usama on Pexels.com

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