we have combined the things, acquired the things, strolled through big box stores, picked out shower curtains, hung pictures, scoured the internet for things, taken the dog for walks, fluffed towels in a dryer, designated the $45 retro cherry dressers into “his” and “hers”.

we have taken a step – a crucial step, in togetherness. sharing a life with someone you love means learning to love 1/2 the things, 1/2 the time, 1/2 for yourself, 1/2 for the other. this is now “ours”.

sharing space. sharing meals. sharing bills. sharing a bed.

it’s a step you don’t take until you’re ready to show the other half your other half. learning about yourself by proxy of the one you love is a hard pill to swallow, and yet, a learning experience of a lifetime. bad habits. good habits. it’s all fair game.

i love lying next to you, before bed, after lunch. i love staring into your eyes in our space, in our home. i love coming home to find you curled up on the couch, my cattle dog in your nook, a show i do not like playing itself out softly in the background. i love that you love to share a space with me. perhaps this means i’m worth it. perhaps this means “we’re” worth it.

we combine our thoughts, we combine the chores, we combine laundry and plant-watering duties. we remain separate but equal partners in aspects of life you never knew could be shared. and i love sharing it with you. i love sharing in loneliness, in euphoria, in tears and smiles and dirty dishes. i love this combination of us, the exposure of insecurity, the unabashed brilliance of confidence.

you make me a better me. i make you a better you. this partnership, this friendship, this combination of humanity is beautiful. cohabitation means learning about each other every day – a duty not to be taken lightly, a chore at times, an honor at times. i revel in your beauty, i look at you when you sleep. and i know when you awake, you’ll look at me with the covers tucked under my face, my head nestled into a pillow, my breath slow and steady and soft like the chest of a filly.

and we’ll dance this dance day in and day out and our friendship will grow, and we’ll dance in the kitchen and we’ll sit at a long, red table and we’ll look at each other and share a literal space of place and a place of the heart. and a light will flip on and a dog will bark in the distance and we’ll return to our separate activities of loving ourselves and loving each other in between the walls of an old building, in a new city, underneath invisible daytime stars. and we’ll be grateful for all that works and all that does not – all that will not, and all that will be.


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