Sitting is easy silence, baby sweetly sleeping, and wondering (knowing) if this is real life.
I haven't blogged in too long, too many (so many) changes, and never wrote the obligatory Old Year/New Year post I usually do.
I struggle, now, to place words here. I have written endlessly in the past month. More words with more meaning and depth and breadth than ever before in my life. But those words cast only to one person, and only with one intention in mind. They were not, no matter the acceptance, meant for this venue. Meant to be shared publicly. They are deep and true and the best.
And somehow, in tangled up love, I rediscovered the truest form of my writing. And, also, a form I had never known. An expression of love instead of pain.
Reading old blog posts, or even so far back as highschool poetry, my most outstanding was also my most deeply painful. And if attempted something based on an emotion kin to love, it felt flat and listless.
And now? Loves beams pour from my eyes. From my fingertips and etch words of faith and truth and future. Love permeates and fills in gaps. Like sand around stones. Makes whole and steadier. Makes it all.
I could write forever about how this is different. It is. I could write for hours and hours and pages on how I didn't know this could be real and how I was never this girl. But I won't. Because, well, what's the point? It's all true. But also? What is more true?
This is it. This is life. My life, my love, my partnership, my family. My future, whatever it may be, is bigger and brighter and truer.
I have kept this huge deep expansive love very private. Because it is not, again, the stuff to share. Unless you can peer into my very soul, and only one can do that, you cannot know. And that's...well, instead of just okay, it's magical. Because this love is just ours.
So, there are a million things I would to write about and catch up blog-land on. But, in this little moment of sweet domestic partnership, I just wanted to say this:
Everything comes from love.
