There is this way in which is hand reaches for mine, this way in which love courses through his fingers as they intertwine with mine. A way in which he kisses my gently, that breathes more life into my sometimes tired spirit than any thing else alive…
The tenderness that comes from him is something that doesn’t just blossom when boy meets girl. It does not simply click on when vows are taken. It is a thing of wonder that comes with forever of knowing one another.
There was a day, hands around throat- tempers raging our already stormy seas- when I believed it not possible.
Such days were early. Young.
Today is old. Not quite rockers-on-porches old but easily paving the way towards even more tender.
Surely there’s a reason growing old is categorized under tender…
wrinkled mouth kisses, frail hands, palm to palm.
I am happy for today, our somewhere tender in between.
Grateful, even more so.