it’s late. the only light in this room is the cool, unblinking light of the sleek iMac screen. my fingers tap a subtly methodical dance across the plastic keys. i notice that each each sentence is separated by the dull staccato of the double space.
from the adjoining room, i hear the sound of water trickling over paint brushes, then the soft padding of stocking feet over hardwoord floor. i listen to the couch squeak as my love sits back down in front of his paints, clean brushes in hand.
my cough rattles my chest cage, and then this room. the cough deepens as the night grows on, the cough that reminds me i’ve missed two of the five very first days at a new job this week. the cough that reminds me i am not invincible, and i cannot control every circumstance. i cannot always be perfect. i cannot ever be perfect. but that’s another story for another time.
his voice cuts through the silence, comforting and warm. his voice sounds just like the way it feels to be curled up next to him on the couch, my head on his chest, tracing the pattern of his graphic tee with my painted fingernail. today, it was white clouds on dark cotton, and the outline of a vw bus.
today it was white clouds on dark cotton. i like that. i think in life, i tend to focus too much on the dark, and not quite enough on the white, bright clouds.
tonight, though, i’m daydreaming of the shapes in those clouds. wondering where the wind will blow us next. we’re still walking underneath this sky, together, pushing forward on this long road.
and Your Love lies our salvation.
listen: orange sky | alexi murdoch