she sits still, watching the clock and singing along with stevie nicks. 9:09. this is one of her favorite songs, fuck anyone who says it’s too popular to be poignant. she props her head up with a pillow, checks the clock. 9:11.

tenth avenue is noisy and chaotic. the neighbors across the way have finally moved all their things in. she can see their feet in the six inches between the blinds and the floor: they pace back and forth, go up and down, come together and move apart. they are pulling it together, placing their possessions delicately into their desired spots. one pair of feet goes up on tip toes for a kiss. 9:14.

the song skips. she hits next impatiently, frustrated with technology as a whole. mercury is in retrograde and nothing is working properly. except for her insides. for once. 9:22.

the shuffle gods are in a mood tonight, perhaps agitated like the rest of us are by mercury’s disrupted orbit. 9:27: an indie band from minneapolis that makes her feel warm and sleepy and inspired. maybe it’s the wine.

spill. 9:43.

she gets distracted on her way to the kitchen in search of a dishrag and ends up snooping through the new groceries in the fridge. the wine on her sheets spreads determinedly, taking over the fibers and soaking through the layers, bleeding all the way down to the mattress. 

at 10:14 she rediscovers the mishap, runs her fingers over the wetness of the spot, consciously decides to let it be. 

“okay.”

she almost whispered it, afraid that the moment would pass her by and the daydream would shatter when she spoke. two syllables:

“okay.”

and there they were, hand in hand. 

there is a distinct difference that lies between writing love letters for someone and writing them for everyone. when one writes a love letter for a specific person, it is less grand, for true, real, can’t-live-without-you love lies in the little things:

the way you carefully comb your hair when you get out of the shower,

how you lick your fingers when you’re cooking,

when you glance sideways at me when you think i’m not watching.

love is the things that drive me crazy:

how mercilessly tidy you are,

when forget i’m in the room when you’re wrapped up in a project

how you’re unbelievably stubborn,

how you HATE losing an argument (like me.)

romance isn’t about princesses in tall castles or poisoned apples and endless slumber. it’s the way you apologize when you’re wrong, how you pull the covers up over me when i fall asleep. it’s hating when you leave in the morning and  waiting at the door when you come home at night. it’s the only thing that makes sense when everything else is unfair and out of control. it’s the way no one else’s opinion matters like yours does. it’s the way you laugh at me, how you make ME laugh when i’m having a meltdown because you know i’ll feel better if i quit taking everything so goddamn seriously.

love is us on wednesday night, when we’re too tired to go out and are instead watching an episode of the office that we’ve both seen fourteen times. it’s checking the expiration date on that old bottle of tonic water because we have “a little bit of gin left." 

it’s remembering how lucky i am, which is very very lucky indeed.

on my way home from the burial, all I could think was how lucky we all are to have each other. the air was thick with love and sorrow, and raindrops fell lightly while we held onto each other tightly and prayed for the hurt to lift from our hearts. it will take time and patience, diligence and compassion. we promised to to honor peter through our actions, remembering that first of all, as he always was, we must be kind. it has been a hard weekend. I watched the members of my family bravely come together and fight hard to press on, all the while looking to the mountains where peter surely was watching. phone numbers were exchanged and connections were strengthened. tribulations of the past were left behind. we came together and held each other and remembered my cousin, the gentle and kindhearted man we lost far too soon. i think he was smiling at us up there on that mountain today with eyes that were clear and shining, unobstructed for the first time in years.

i think he was smiling.