You're unaware of it but-
You’ve been a walking literary device for months.
You're pulling twelve to sixteen-hour shifts;
Going to pumpkin patches with your littles before falling asleep and messaging me with an apology in the morning-
as if I wasn't melting onto my couch late into the night over something you'd said, anyway.
We talk about books and kids and weather and work;
A slow convergence of our lives as we navigate to make room for each other.
You're working hard and coming home to fall asleep with your kids on the couch mid-conversation with me.
And I?
I'm typing furiously.
I'm writing and tweaking lines until they've perfectly captured the soft glow you've given back to me.
I'm collaborating with the reality of us and pouring it into pages;
Softly sinking into my couch with a “holy shit” laugh when the final piece stares back at me with perfection.
I fall asleep at night in the warmth that I get to wake up in the morning and choose you all over again.
You have been a walking literary device for months and honestly?
You're the best one I've ever had the pleasure of learning to love.
