Everything strangely familiar.

Two lost souls coming home.

Walking hand in hand

Yin Yang

Perfect balance.

Eye-contact creating a universe no-one can enter but we

She awakes me and and offers me life in its purest form

Myriads of reasons why I love her, each reason making me a richer man.

She has a way of saying ‘you know, in the end...’ before she reaches a conclusion. I hold her close and think: God, you’re adorable.

I can’t look at her without smiling out of sheer happiness.

She pokes up the fire within me and gathers the fertilizing ashes.

I see us.

Along the river, on our bikes, riding hand in hand, even then.

She plays flute in a sun-showered attic room, my letters dangling form strings, each of them a token of my affection, scores of pictures of us, taken in so many countries, right next to my punkishly decorated writing room. Our son and I are dressed up as pirates, we sneak across the creaking attic floor. He’s making his best effort not to explode in roaring laughter. It’s time to kidnap mother for dinner. In ‘the captain’s quarters’ below, our daughter is arranging plates. She’s wearing a scarf on her head and ribbons in her hair. She’s sweet, somewhat brazen, playful and full of energy. I call her ‘my little spitfire’. We eat ‘treasure island stew’, whoever finds the pearl, gets an old dubloon made into a necklace. We put candles on bottles, one of them is a bottle of Chardonnay 2006, the letters on the label have faded a little, but are still readible, its contents emptied on a magical Tuesday, a day on which the angels up above lined up on a cloud to watch in awe as two compatible essences embraced each other, without restraint, and a strong will to never let go. They do the dishes together. After that my son and I play chess, she and little spitfire watch a movie. They both cry at the end and fill the room with sighs cast in happiness. She kisses the children and goes up to play an other hour. I put them to bed and read them a story I wrote for them, twice with two different endings. I kiss them goodnight and I hear ‘em discuss which ending they liked better, before they close their eyes and drift off to sleep. We end the evening in a round tub filled with hot water and lots af bath salts. The room lighted by over fifty of different kinds of lanterns, each one a little piece of art. I kiss her soft face shining in the flickering light. We wash each others hair and afterwards we wrap one giant towel around the two of us. I lie with her and she tells me every little thing that pops into her beautiful head and when her eyes-lids start to drop, I give her one last, fulfilling skin-to-skin hug and go to meet my writers’ desk. I set free all the inspiration of the day, the sound of the keyboard are the musical chords of my inner instrument. With cheeks flushed from released images I return to her. I slip into the bed beside her warm, soft body and with eyes closed, she reaches for my hand and kisses it. I whisper into her ear that I love her and never regret a single moment I spend with her, that she introduces me to happiness. In one streaming motion, she turns and kisses me, with an intense passionate tenderness that makes my heart skip a few beats.

We are happy.

30-01-2008 om 20:29 geschreven door partners in crime