July 15, 2014

My dearest,

We’ve been walking for hours now. From the grey quarters to the gleaming TV tower with crawling babies; from the summer market where we had exceptional coffees and bought a huge bouquet of fresh lavender to crossing the river on yet another bridge. We have walked all day.

Now your feet are bruised, skin peeling from brushing against the straps of your flip-flops. We stop to press band-aids over the wounds; they unravel; we stop to reposition them, over and over.

This feels like a form of devotion, bending down to caress and care for your feet. We walk slowly. Our pace slackens but it’s okay; we are carrying each other.

Yours, ever and always.