February 14, 2019

My dearest,

Some mornings I make our bed, pulling the quilt down at the corners so it’s smooth and flat, the way you like it.

Some mornings you make our bed, while I’m still half asleep, brushing my teeth. You’re always faster than me.

Some mornings, weekends mostly, when I wake before you do to meditate in silence, we have to wait till you’re up as well, stumbling out of the bedroom like a child. Sweet child. Then we take one side each and make our bed together.

Making the bed comes easy to us, we’d do it anyway even if we were sleeping in separate beds, in different cities. Across the sea, continents apart. What a blessing, what grace, that we can make our bed together more days than not.

Yours, ever and always.