On our walk home from the library this evening, Ben and I blew gusts of air at one another, amazed as we always are that are breath has a color.
"Like little clouds from my mouth!" I told him, wondering if I said something similar to my mother long ago.
When we got back to our apartment, I dove my feet into the warmest socks I could find, lit my english candles and curled up in our large bed with my book of love poems.
oh, the time before bed has always been my favorite, even when i was a child. my room gave way to the release of all thing imaginary that had been pent up in my brain. It was safe, it was warm.
I feel so safe and warm in this bed, in this room.
Soft candles flicker, my love sits beside me quietly reading. I do my artwork and writing on the floor until the chill from broken windows creeps too close to my skin and I retreat finally to the endless blankets of the warmest covers.
at the end of the day, I have the wonders of night to come home to and the guarantee of comfort in my bed. it really is the simple little things.
warm socks, next to other warm socks of the man I love. quiet conversations in the dark. beautiful twinkle lights and candles. bedtime.