It is late. And I am writing.
And he is asleep in my bed.
We are learning how to be with each other. How to witness each other.
He leans on coffee. I lean on wine.
We share rotisserie chicken.
I do his laundry. He walks my dog. We talk.
I worry he will die a tragic death - like lovers often do.
I worry I will die too soon.
He rambles. He's messy. He's patient. He cradles me in tender affection. It is mildly suffocating and wildly comforting.
I tell him he is no longer an extra large. He is a medium. I tell him he is handsome.
He tells me I am beautiful. And I believe him.
I look out the window - waiting for him, knowing he is nowhere near.
Today was a full day together and apart.
I rush to get to work in the morning. He eases me out the door - sets me on a pace of calm.
I tell him I will drive him to his dentist appointment for a tooth extraction later in the day. I hate the dentist. I cancel at the last minute. Work gets in the way.
They don't pull his tooth after he tells them about numbness in his left ankle. "I told you about this last night," he says. I don't remember.
I get home before him. Change quickly into my naughty black pleather nurses outfit and a sassy red wig. I tell him it was part of my plan to care for him after his tooth extraction.
He tells me that "dress-up" is new to him.
We visit his friend. He is 81 and in a nursing home. "Thank you for not letting me rot alone in here," his friend says. We are at each other's side. Smiling. We are perfectly aligned.
We go to my clients and oversee the rehoming of exotic reptiles. We pick herbs from their garden. And lavender. It smells divine.
We eat dinner at 9:30. I can hear him chew.
We chatter and tease. He is slightly annoyed with me. I understand why.
He is asleep in our bed.
And I am here.
Downstairs.
Writing.
I love this man.
xo, Monkey Me
