Rooted, I used to think.

Profile - Archive- RSS
Notes - Email - Diaryland

The Birthday Dance - Friday, Dec. 20, 2019
You and Me - Tuesday, Dec. 17, 2019
Resilience - Friday, Dec. 13, 2019
Anniversary - Thursday, Dec. 12, 2019
Still Happy - Tuesday, Dec. 10, 2019

Thursday, Jun. 13, 2019 @ 1:00 am

Cycling together to the beach, I ride fast and look behind me and smile and urge him to catch up. His bike is better than mine; I know he’s holding back. It’s the first time that we’ve cycled together on road bikes, and it’s comfortable and natural; I can tell he’s put a lot of miles in the saddle.

It’s been ten days since we last saw each other. There is much to catch up on, and we stand out in shoulder-deep water talking, jumping to stay above water with each passing wave. He’s talking about visiting a cheese factory in Wisconsin, and I am listening intently while I swim up close to his chest.

When he finishes his story I put my arms around his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist.

"Hi," I say to him.

He holds onto me then starts to spin me around and around.

The golden sun, a cruise ship sailing out from the port. We are spinning, and I’m holding onto his strong body, and I’m laughing and weightless in the buoyant water, and then he stops and we are kissing, salty water dripping from our faces and into our mouths.

Later, he comes up into my apartment.

I slide open the patio door to let in the evening air. I turn and he pulls me towards him, and I fall into him. He kisses my collarbone and places his hand gently on the back of my head. We are reckless and passionate and the blinds are open. A cool breeze is a balm over my hot skin.

We lay on the couch talking for a long time. He stretches his arm up and places his hand behind his head. I rest my head on his bicep. He traces patterns on my back with his free hand. I run my fingers over his forehead, down his nose, and across his lips.

“What do you like about me?” I ask. He takes a deep breath and says that he needs to think about this, but then relents and begins.

“I like that you are smart, capable, and independent. I like that you are sensual. I think that you’re a good communicator. I like your courage, that you do things that scare you.”

I am so happy to love him, in this way. The act of loving. To be sensual, to be caring, to listen, to be interested. It’s so easy to be generous, to be giving, towards him.

I think that I can be happy with this for a while. Love for me, right now, needs neither definition nor status. I wake with joy in my heart. I smile readily and find connection with most every person that I meet. My world is expanding; I have three options with different friend groups for the upcoming long weekend.

Grateful. Blessed.

My body healthy. My heart strong.

I used to envy Narcissa’s descriptions of time in Nola and other places with beautiful friends, and somehow I’ve manifested it for myself.

What is my next dream?

Dancing in the dark on the beach, pressing my body into someone who also moves fluidly to the beat.

Diving at night into an ocean filled with phosphorescence, watching the glittering creatures cascade from my hands as I move them through the water.

A man holding my face, looking me in the eyes, and telling me that he is in love with me.

A perfect summer peach that drips juice all the way down my forearms and falls from my elbows.

A bottle of real Champagne and the spicy smell of Provence and the white horses of Camargue.

A towhead child, all softness and love.

Roots | Shoots