Saturday, November 06, 2004
It is funny, the things we remember. Your favorite hymn, the song that used to drive me crazy, the fact that you make a damned good pie crust.
You cook. And I have to wonder what it is you make. Not because I don't think you have a talent for it - I've eaten things you've prepared. Just because it would give me an idea of who you are in your every day life. Are you always seeking a new way of doing things? (I like to think that would appeal to you) or are you more interested in the familiar, the comfortable? (that too has its merits)
I know you well enough to know that you eat everything you kill, and that you despise trophy hunters. That you are kind, and caring, and rough and hard, and all the things that make you the person you are. But there are things I can't see from here. So I wonder.
I asked you once before what makes you wake up with a smile on your face. You told me you'd have to think about it. I hope you've figured it out. (And while I would love to know, you'll either tell me or not, depending on what you think best. And I won't push. Too much.)
I just want you to be happy. I've been telling you that for many years, and I don't know that you have always believed me, but it is true. That's all I ever wanted.
Well, that and to have you in my life. I don't think there will ever come a time when that isn't necessary for me. So you'd best take care of yourself.
And here I go again, getting all weekend on you. I'll come up with something a bit sexier later. After all... you do bring that side of me out. And I do enjoy the hell out of it. And you.
You cook. And I have to wonder what it is you make. Not because I don't think you have a talent for it - I've eaten things you've prepared. Just because it would give me an idea of who you are in your every day life. Are you always seeking a new way of doing things? (I like to think that would appeal to you) or are you more interested in the familiar, the comfortable? (that too has its merits)
I know you well enough to know that you eat everything you kill, and that you despise trophy hunters. That you are kind, and caring, and rough and hard, and all the things that make you the person you are. But there are things I can't see from here. So I wonder.
I asked you once before what makes you wake up with a smile on your face. You told me you'd have to think about it. I hope you've figured it out. (And while I would love to know, you'll either tell me or not, depending on what you think best. And I won't push. Too much.)
I just want you to be happy. I've been telling you that for many years, and I don't know that you have always believed me, but it is true. That's all I ever wanted.
Well, that and to have you in my life. I don't think there will ever come a time when that isn't necessary for me. So you'd best take care of yourself.
And here I go again, getting all weekend on you. I'll come up with something a bit sexier later. After all... you do bring that side of me out. And I do enjoy the hell out of it. And you.
