On Love

When from out of the blanket burrito you’ve created, like extra salsa, your blue eyes emerge, blinking and dazed as if they’ve never seen light. You seem stunned as if you didn’t expect the sun to rise as it has every other day. I’m glad you’re here.

When we each sit, heads bent over our studies, the sun dancing across your hair and alighting on our plants—we created quite a jungle house when we moved in together—I smile before diving back into the world of medicine.

When you scamper away, a mountain goat of a human, taking off when you see a steep incline with rocks on the trail ahead, I chuckle. I’ll find you at the top of the pitch, eyes glistening, waiting. Maybe a kiss before we forge onward. And when we get to the summit we see the world unfold before us. Each of us thinking our own thoughts, but knowing somehow our thoughts fit together like the parts of an ice cream sundae—dazzling all on their own but grander together.

When I’m sitting on the couch, studying or writing, and you ask “Are you hungry darling?” As I light the candle for the dinner table I’m already full.

It’s those times when love seems like such an obvious thing. And, as happy as I am alone, I’m glad you decided to journey with me.