Tuesday, July 23, 2013

dear james

Dear James.

It's storming and Finn is napping in the back room. I carried him inside with his carseat and he has been snoozing away. You know how he wakes up though- all of a sudden and so loud. He has such willpower. He knows what he wants.

I'm thinking about the very first time you took me up to our favorite cabin in New York. It was winter and we had snowshoes and we walked the trails and ended up at that deserted cabin by the river and we went inside. I said it felt like it was haunted but you assured me that we were fine. You warmed up my hands and we ate the homemade chili that you brought in a thermos for us.

We walked back to our cabin and we listened to Neil Young and made dinner. I talked about New York and you looked me in the eyes and told me I was smart for leaving when I did. We had only known each other for a month and I felt like I had known you for a year.

We walked in those snowshoes all weekend. You bent down every time and put them on for me. You buckled every button and tightened them just right. Never complaining or acting annoyed. Every time you bent down to fix the buckles and make sure they were adjusted just so, I stared at the top of your head and felt myself fall a little bit more in love with you.

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