Of disappearing storms, being a witness to joy, and cutting it awfully close.

  1. The morning light is dangerous as I sit to write, a blue sky broken by the harsh grey demarcation of a thundercloud. When I finally lay down the pen, the storm is nowhere to be seen.
  2. It’s a box of donuts, overfilled with perfectly baked and decorated treats. It’s my heart, reprovisioned with sweetness.
  3. Our first week home together. We both have a lot to learn.
  4. I knew I’d missed her, though I hadn’t realized how much until I see her. A little part of my soul warms up as we chat. My kind of people.
  5. More than a new toy–a dream fulfilled, above and beyond what he’d asked for. His joy is palpable and contagious, his face beaming. I get misty remembering it hours later. So rare. So precious.
  6. It isn’t until late afternoon that I realize my body’s discomfort isn’t a half dozen separate things; it’s one very specific thing. I check my app. Yep. Right on time (almost).
  7. Work emails. It’s been a while.
  8. We laugh and eat and drink and tell stories and forget to do the main thing we planned to do. None of us minds. Another time.
  9. I miss his doofy fuzzface.
  10. I didn’t forget. But it was a near thing. (Timestamp: 11:45pm ET)

Author: Ellie

Uppity stardust. Will eat (almost) anything.

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