He takes my hand and we walk. Out into the uncertain, out into the unknown. But walking, always walking, in the direction of our dreams. I talk and he listens. Talk about nothing, talk about everything, talk until the whole world makes sense again. And just like that, just by taking my hand he’s always been able to make the world make sense again.
We stand together and he picks up our Crate & Barrel rococo striped dish towel and snaps it lovingly in the general direction of my backside. Posterior. Derriere if you prefer. “You Wash, and I’ll Dry.” And for us this one simple statement has become much less a division of labor and more like a mantra for life. For how we take on the world together. He may be dirty dishes and kitchen cabinet doors standing wide open, but I’m three day old glasses of milk on the nightstand. And for us, it just works. Because we know we’re better together, we’re stronger together.
And we’ll fix it all. Together.
I walk to the beat in my own head, and he breathes the melody. He takes my hand and presses it against his chest and we dance. And he pulls me in close like he doesn’t ever want to let go.