The Queen
Some times it's hard to believe this is even my life.Like after the "I'm here" text every time I open the door and see her walking towards me, she's beautiful.
jeans and a sports bra no make up
yellow dress with the works
every time I can't believe this is my life
neck sweat
chocolate glazed donut
that sweater with a little more shoulder showing
The way the setting sun wraps her skin, that moment the sun desperately trying to display her inner glow for the world to see. Like an amateur painter not quite doing justice.
But how could the sun with all her life giving energy and power think for a moment it could capture all that is within this queen?
Her laugh after I say something dumb, and her better laugh when I realize she's not laughing at what I said but something she was thinking about.
The stages of her smile when it starts out little all lip, the fake one I can tell she wears as a party trick, then the real one, it is much much better when those lips stretch all the way and her teeth challenge the sun.
Her smile makes me lose my place.
Her smile makes the important topics float slowly to the ground and I'm caught staring, again
and I like that
she takes me to an ancient place
her smile next to me at the bar
It pulls the groomed civilized cultured parts of me out leaving that forgotten and suppressed instinct
I feel slowed joining the rest of life on this planet
like a stag frozen in observation
That level of existence where direct deposits, deductibles, and dry cleaning are senseless
The only thing that matters is staying towards those eyes that face
The bar empties, the music stops
Then, she blinks like throwing a blanket over her naked body she throws her eyelashes over those amazing dark brown eyes
And the world snaps back into it's orbit debit cards, national debt, and car door dents matter again
I return to the world around me my brain reminding me of the civil pleasantries those manners culture has taught us all, the music comes back and the crowd seems annoyingly invasive
The nerve of these people to remain in this bar when they know she and I are here. To disrupt us with a loud laugh or asking if I'd like another canned beer unaware that my nursing has kept it relatively full.
Sitting next to her in our tree
watching her flip through pages in the loft, surrounded by words and binding all attempting to grab my attention like the designs of flowers their unique smells in the summer as we stroll by but paling in comparison to her standing peaceful and still with that book
Her soft skin in my hands as I feel each toe periodically twitch I learn they are ticklish resting on her pink blanket as we watch a 407 year old play her namesake
The way I can't seem to stop touching her even if it's just holding her hand as we walk or while driving in the car.
The way she communicates when something doesn't seem right. How she stops everything in order to sort it out
And the way she uses her body next to mine to make the petty things roll away
how simple connect like a hug on a street corner can bring perspective back
I like that
I really like her
I could go on but I feel like I'm gushing too much
I'm not even entirely sure I know what we are or what or when the next step is
But none of that seems to matter all that matters is when will be the next time I'm near her?
...oh and tomorrow is my first day of school as a teacher.
John Mayer - Gravity