(escapril, day 6: nostalgia)

You smell of laundry detergent and spicy white jasmine and sour-sweet spilt milk.

You look at me like you’d do anything I ask, if only I ask.

You smile like there’s nothing at all amiss, and I smile too, looking at you.

You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders with strength and dignity, with faith in the above and below and within all good.

You spread in a million directions, down a million paths, giving everything, everything.

You catch me when I take a tumble in my silly slippery shoes and make sure I’m okay, hand firm and warm on my shoulder. You help me take a seat.

You’re handsome in an old-fashioned way, a Sunday dinner kind of way. A Coca-Cola, Norman Rockwell, red-white-and-blue kind of way.

I feel like we should be dancing in a USO, a jazz hall, at a sockhop, instead of in this sweaty rented room.

I kinda feel like we have, in a different life. Sometime outside of now.

I kinda feel like we’ve done this all a thousand times before in a thousand different places.

Being with you feels like everything at once- but somehow it’s never too much.

You hold something deep within your core, an anchor, keeping you at bay through storm and gale. I feel it too, see it shine out through your eyes.

Tomorrow always comes, and He is always good.