on love

late-autumn pleasures

It is not a rare day that I think about how glad I am to share my days with A.  But the night before last, I was up through the early hours of the morning, sick and scared and vomiting.  And he lay beside me and rubbed my back and did not sleep until I did, never minding that he needed to wake early for work the next day.  I didn’t even have to ask.  Of course I didn’t.

The longer I am married, the less I claim to knowledge of love.  My life feels more like a gift and less like something I made or analyzed and chose.  But the years go on, and the fruit is still fresh and good and sweet.  Right to the heart.

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