Ode to my beloved

Keep askin' ourselves are we really
Strong enough
There's so many things that we got
Too proud of
We're too proud of
We're too proud of

I wanna take the preconceived
Out from underneath your feet
We could shake it off
Instead we'll plant some seeds
We'll watch em' as they grow
And with each new beat
From your heart the roots grow deeper
The branches will they reach for what
Nobody really knows
But underneath it all
There's this heart all alone

What about is gone
And it really won't be so long
Sometimes it feels like a heart is no place to be singin' from at all

There's a world we've never seen
There's still hope between the dreams
The weight of it all
Could blow away with a breeze
If your waiting on the wind
Don't forget to breathe
Cause as the darkness gets deeper
We'll be sinkin' as we reach for love
At least somethin' we could hold
But I'll reach to you from where time just can't go
~ All at Once, Jack Johnson


A beauty observed pales in comparison to a beauty shared. This one I married, this man I crave...I miss him most deeply in these long days on my own. How thankful I am that singleness usually precedes togetherness, and that this is but a season of separation. It is so much harder to travel backward on this trajectory, and to lose the little joys that have been so tightly woven they are part of the very fabric of my being after just six years. Someone to warm my toes on...someone to cry my most bitter tears with...someone who understands my wordless wonder over all things outdoors and all things truly beautiful...someone who shares completely my idea of beauty and goodness...who enjoys the same art, who considers the same cottonwood tree "art", who thinks of dry grass prairies as "art", and the wind blowing through them "music". Someone who wakes hours before dawn to show me fields I've never seen, to teach me bird calls I've always longed to know, to watch me experience the thrill of the hunt, and takes time to teach me the dark profiles of a myriad of different birds as they fly against the gray-green of a predawn skyline. The tender curve of a man's back bent beneath the weight of our shared child; the quiet shuffle of his feet across the cold wood floors in winter, up to care for a crying child while I stay tucked in bed with the delicious baby.

It goes beyond all the little human connections and years of small kindnesses and momentary regrets, and shared experiences. It is being one in soul. I am less than half of what I should be without him. I am scared, and lonely, and dull. I was designed for him, and him for me, and it is irrefutable. He is all of my best songs, and my most tender moments; he is my truest mirror and yet takes care to cast back only my most flattering reflection. He is the greatest part of my peace, he is the most vibrant part of my thoughts, he is the most winnowed and honed part of my wit. He is my protector, he is my critic, he is my enigma, he is my joy. We are so grown together, in such a short time, that it is difficult to spend 17 days without his touch, and his thoughts, and his laughter. I miss the curious little crinkles around his eyelids, the way he closes his eyes when I compliment him, the way he "pshaws" at me when I admire him. Yet it is so beyond compliments and admiration, even adoration. It is need and longing and fulfillment and passion and desire and acquiescence and...betterness. He is my call to goodness and my will for perseverance and my desire for God. He lights my flames and tends them with me. He is the granite shore on which my soul stands, he is the swell in my wave, he is the dance in my days, the lilt in my monotony.


I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here
And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know
That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you
Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away
I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong
That I know
That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest
~ The Luckiest, Ben Folds