Thursday, June 30, 2016

Love Letters Part 2

It happens in the small bubbles of time between the day-to-day events. The boring transitions that occur, connecting my life from one moment to the next. 

I remember these transitions in my past being filled with a homesickness. A longing to get through with this next thing and get home. If the lull lagged and gave me even greater pause to think about the underlying emotion that existed in those spaces, I would whisper, "I wanna go home."

It seemed nonsensical. I felt it. As soon as the words passed my lips, my heart would tumble into foolish reprimand. How ridiculous to want to go home when I was very often already at home. 

Still. These pauses existed. And the ache remained. 

I don't know the exact moment they changed. I think I became aware of the switch slowly and suspiciously. 

At first, I thought you were perhaps a fantastic distraction. An exuberant example of how life ought to look when it is well lived. Maybe my pauses were  hurried now, anxious to join you in the next moment. I held onto you, while in the back of my mind believing the homesickness would eventually return. 

It's been more than a decade. 

My transitions from one moment to the next are now filled with a very real sense of peace. A knowing that at the end of every day, you will come home.

To me. 

I no longer wish for a home I've never known. Because I found it. Or, more accurately, it found me. It found me in those boring, empty pauses that hold life together like stitches in a blanket. 

Now, when the lull lags, I take a deep breath and let myself feel it. The knowing of where I fit.

I don't wait for it to pass. I don't dread the tedium. I thank God for one more perfect stitch in our life.

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