When you go to sleep in a room clouded by a heavy smog of resentment, sometimes you wake up and the space has cleared. Other times, you flutter your eyelids and think, "Am I still angry? Why yes, yes I am."
My favorite is when you smile with your lips together. You tilt your head slightly, and your expressive, Carolina blue eyes become crescent moons. The dimple on your left cheek is the cherry on top of an already perfect ice cream sundae.
Some days I'm peaceful and Buddha-like. "This is my journey. I'll be healed when the timing is right." Other days I'm impatient, uncertain, and sour. "Journey, schmourney. Screw the journey. This sucks."
Character encounters are a vital component of many families’ holidays to Disney theme parks. Your little princess has been watching The Little Mermaid for five years, and she finally gets to meet her beloved Ariel fin-to-fin!
I wish I could lift your tiny rib cage over my head forever, the way I do when I'm laying on the floor, looking up at you, airplane style. Your tiny, fit frame is still easy to hold. I look up, nearly blinded by that buried dimple of yours, dazzling like a marquee diamond.
"Oh, how thrilling!” they’d burst upon discovering that Mickey Mouse signed my paychecks. “That must be so fulfilling, so magical! Your parents must be so proud!” The truth is, it wasfulfilling, and they were proud, but there was something about that question, “Where do you work?” that pretzeled my insides.
You’re my Valentine, because we’re lovers and companions. We’ve got a Will and Grace friendship fused with soap opera passion, and we know that’s like, impossibly rare, so together we fight. And we stay. And we love.
And then. Walls collapse. Someone caves. “I’m sorry.” “Me too.” A light kiss is offered and accepted. Hair is pushed out of the way so that four eyes can meet. Chests are pressed firmly. Grace is shown.
Life is not always live music, sloppy kisses, and sushi dates. Sometimes it’s realizing you can’t afford your dream apartment. Sometimes it’s searching for an emerald pheasant birthday card amidst generic cupcakes and balloons.
When I receive his text messages, I am free to write back immediately. I don’t have to calculate the appropriate read-to-respond delay ratio. (That’s a thing, right?) I don’t dig for a witty retort; I don’t second-guess. Does this sound clingy? Are capital letters too intense? I’d better go all-lowercase. I just respond.
I beam when a freshly engaged friend flashes her shiny, new ring- a promise of forever from her real-life Romeo. The only part of this “I’m Engaged!” scenario that makes me cringe is when someone, usually a giddy, well-meaning girlfriend, fires that classic response at the bride-to-be faster than it took Kim Kardashian to say, “Nevermind, I Don’t.”