Restlessly you pace around the room. Flightless Bird, American Mouth, Is playing on one of your crippled phones. I know this because I just looked it up to reference here. I love your taste in music. I asked you what you were doing As you stood there contemplating what's next. You looked at me and paused, I assumed this meant that you had nothing in mind, just killing time maybe. I said “come here” and you said you needed to tidy up, I said, “do it later, come here”. You did. Ten minutes later you slid off the bed and onto your feet. The first thing you grabbed was the markers. As you made your way to store them, I held my tongue. “Don't put those away, I'd like to draw with you later.” But I didn't say that. I held my tongue. Instead I just thought, “let her go”. Then I just watched you. I do this a lot. I watched you tidy up a bit. One surface after the next. Order out of chaos. I remember thinking two things as I watched you. ONE: Your neatness is so attractive to me. Maybe because I'm the same way, I have trouble relaxing around clutter. TWO: I wanted to talk with you but you were in the zone. I thought to myself, I'll just write her, she can read it later, perfectly normal. For us it is. I love you. I watched you leave the room and return with a small sledge hammer. You had this look in your eye, like you were searching for a quote from Misery, as you did your best to show me your mean face. “What's that for?”, I asked. You finally just giggled and said something about smashing me with it. A few minutes later you were standing up on the chair showing me that you can “do cool stuff”. “I got it, I want to show you that I can do cool stuff.” I know you can baby, but let me help. The two of us wrestled that nail into the wall. Now a new piece of art hangs above the tv. After some time listening to music and doing our own things, you came to lay next to me on the bed. “Everything is good babe.” That's what you said to me. Now you are back up again straightening pictures. You’ll be back.
