A Mooring

I did not fall in love with you. 
I jumped headfirst. 

It was simple, really.
Like opening an unlocked door.

Turning on a faucet. 
 
It's the most effortless thing I've ever done. Easing the soft gloves of our woven life onto my hands. 

I never once doubted. Not even back then on the beach when I saw you shining like a star in the sand.   Something between us felt so instinctive that it shocked me when I didn't already know your name. 

Now mothering? That's hard. 

Makes me want to crack my skull against the sidewalk. Or run out into the street screaming and swearing that the house is burning down and someone - anyone - should get the hose. 

It rings me out. 
It takes every part. 

Makes me yearn for you. The lightness. The smile cracked across your face like an egg in a pan. 

Some say that true love

Bleeds. 
Begs.
Burns. 

I have not found this to be so. 

Loving you is a mooring. Your thumb trailing down my shoulder in a crowded room.

It's peace, something outside of you, I'm often without. 

But when you're here, your presence is a balm in the aridity of those desolate places and I can lift my face to the sun

And breathe.