July 24, 2013

My dearest,

We tussle and tumble in the living room. It’s another quirky argument over who got to pinch whom last. No one wants to be the last to be affectionately abused.

So we display our own strain of martial arts — you with your “praying mantis swirling wiper blades” and me with my “cobra swift darting side-winding finger pokes” — and generally make enough of a din that the neighbours ought to be cupping their ears to the wall by now.

Finally someone gives up, someone wins. We look silly. We look at each other, call each other, Silly. Oh I’ll sail ships for you, my boy, just to keep doing this with you. Always and always.

Yours, ever and always.