The journey

Growing inside of me like a weed grows in a garden. Wreaking havoc, taking up every resource, but wild, alive and beautiful all the same. 

Your heart is growing right now, so now I have two beating hearts. Tucked safe in my belly, making me sick, making me ache, making me cry day and night, and laugh in delirious happiness too. 

What an incredible journey has started. What adventures lie ahead. I'm scared, but who isn't? Life will happen anyway. Love will happen anyway. 

I hope I can be everything you need me to be. I know that I will try. And I hope I can still be what I need me to be, I hope you'll understand. 

The red poppy seed

I knew of you before it was even possible. My mom said I was mad, only one day had passed, yet I know my body and I knew it was different. Changed. 

I felt you, every little tug. Every breast ache, every mild cramp. And when that first line appeared, I thought I would die, I was so happy, so excited. You had burrowed into my heart along with my womb, and so, so fast. I marvel to think the depth of the love that would have grown with you. 

And then the bleeding began. 'Don't fret' said my friend. Implantation bleeding they call it, it's normal, it's ok. But then it got worse, life was draining out of me like so many teardrops. And then you were gone. No more lines. Nothing but those pictures I took of them to show proof of your existance. A small bundle, tiny as a a poppy seed, but big enough to fill up my heart. 

A month has gone by, and it's silly because you were nothing but a cluster of possibility, yet to me you were the wispy clouds of dreams materialized, the growing life that would arrive to turn mine and your dad's upside down. He was sad too, you know. He touched my belly like it was something sacred, like it held the secrets to the universe, when he saw those lines. But he'll be ok, he didn't feel you inside like I did. 

I'll be ok too, thanks to you. They say some of the cells of an embryo migrate to the mother's tissue wherever there is damage, to heal it. I like to think you are still growing inside my scars, making me stronger.

Goodbye my baby. I'll let you sleep forever where the soul rests. 

The final countdown

The days are long when you wait for something, they say, but not this time. It has come faster than I could expect it to, faster than I could be ready for. 

Last minute planning is still ongoing and saturday is there at the turn of a corner. Excited, nervous, hoping that I'll get everything right, that all deliveries arrive on time, that I won't forget my words, that I won't step on that dress and fall. Just realizing that I have no idea, we have not yet rehearsed the knot. It's lovely, isn't it? How we're still stumbling about. 

But with all our fights, and all our messes, and all our troubles and bad moments, still home is when I put my head on your chest and you tuck me in closer, and I feel your warmth and your ticklish chest hair, and I can hear your wonky breath and your heartbeat and I'll fall asleep like that without intending to because I just feel so relaxed. 

So May the Force (fourth) be with us on this journey we'll be starting. 

Finding it

It's a perfect moment. Conversation flows like machine gun. It's insane, it's uncomfortable, it's like coming home. 

The wondrous feeling of connection to a bigger thing. Of belonging. Of friendship that feels real for once. Of being me. 

There is peace in being me and being accepted for it. I love my rainforest. 

A story worth telling

In a month and a day we'll be choosing the day we'll remember for the rest of our lives. 

It's a whirlwind these days. Choices to make, money to spend, so, so much planning, I mean, look at that crown, look at that dress! But there's also the undercurrent. The underground river of truth beyond all this, your hand in mine. 

From the day that we met when I was 19 and the idea of forever seemed foreign, to this day where we quibble about how to hang up the clothes and who steals each other's side of the bed. The night we talked about science and brains. The dawn on the park bench. Our jokes, but also our depths, you seeing me at my worst, me doing the same. Finding meaning in being you and me against the world. The way you understand how my devious mind works. The silly nights before going out singing Alphaville from the top of our lungs. Lussy. 

With you I experienced the worst losses I ever felt. With your arms around me I heal from it. I hope I can help you heal too. And still the best feeling in the world is getting in bed with my cold feet on your warm legs. The underground river of truth is in the way you support my dreams, in the way you make even the bleak days seem brighter, and in the fact that only you would know that I would love a bouquet of vorticella. 

This truth is that we're not only lovers but friends. We were friends for so long before it became something else. And that the only thing that makes sense in this world is that you sat on that table that late night where I sat with my back turned to yours. It was written in the stars. And so now we sign some papers and choose some date and have a party and it's such a stress, but I'm happy because it's you. 

Ours is a story worth telling. 

Hearts

I used to think highly of Valentine's day. I dreamed of the pretty gifts, the romantic dates, the kisses, the caresses. 

I used to think there was nothing more romantic than a rose bouquet and a thoughtful gift, holding hands on the street. Silly me. 

I've since come to learn that the most romantic gift is knowing that tomorrow, when the hearts disappear from the store windows, you will still be sleeping by my side, keeping my feet warm, you'll still worry that I forgot my gloves, you will still look for gifts for me, kiss me when I get home and tell me I'm beautiful before I put my makeup on. 

Love is not found in grand gestures some days of the year, love is found in the small things, and our life is full to the brim. 

Still, happy Valentine's, my love. 

Remember winter 2022

Gone are the words I had left to say. 

With the spring of our lives still hot in our heels, karaoke nights and days for the deers. Snow can wait, I have hot coals burning my pockets. 

There was so much, so much I wanted to say but I forgot it. I left all those words in between blankets and broken closets. Houses I will never visit again, beds I never slept in. Chile flakes burning my tongue, cats scratching my hand, and those karaoke nights. They all stole the words from me. 

All the puzzle pieces of that picture from which to take without thinking, yet new pieces keep coming -the spring is still warming. It's a new picture, same but older, same but different, same but wordless. All the words that were forgotten. 

And we eat grapes but we don't hear the music, and we go to our place and burn through our stupid, and I see the words that I wrote while we were off our faces 'remember winter 2022'. 

'What the fuck are perfect places anyway'.