Last night was a good night. Dave came, as usual, to watch Headlines with me after the Monday night Xenos meeting. But my favorite part was the goodbye; not that he left, no, not that at all, but the manner of it. There's a communication above words that forms between people who have known each other for a long spell of time, and especially if you care about one another. I've been friends with Tabatha 7 years now and we're nearly telepathic in our subliminal communication, but it can't touch the way emotion is conveyed between Dave and I. The warmth and stubble of his cheek on mine as the cool night air raised goosebumps on my arms. The little sounds that carry words and feeling beyond the use of pretty words, even if you do have to listen a little more closely. The directness and length of their gaze returning yours, contact slipping from palms to fingertips, and the final traditional wave.
Today was a better day.As an extra bonus, I got to see Dave a few minutes before he went to work on a Tuesday, and, at my hopeful inquiry, bearing a piece of notebook paper. I love it when he writes me a letter, even though goading him into writing it is the biggest pain. Finally, he cut me a deal I didn't even suggest - I arrange for my dad and the girls in the house I want to move into to meet, and he'll write me a letter, promise crossmyheart hopetodie yesyesyes I promised I would so I'll do it. So I got them together, and he wrote, and this afternoon, I received my second letter; and I love it. Every word, every grammar error (yes, leave me to say that, I know), every spidery letter in his cramped writing; every sentiment, from the perfect opener to the perfect sign-off...it's wonderful. Being able to reread the compliments, the encouragement, the hope for something deeper yet to come...I love it. From the familiar greeting to the misspelled "Sweetheart" at the bottom, I love it
mostly because it helps me to know, even the smallest bit better, the green-eyed author I am so inexpressibly fond of.
Today was a better day.As an extra bonus, I got to see Dave a few minutes before he went to work on a Tuesday, and, at my hopeful inquiry, bearing a piece of notebook paper. I love it when he writes me a letter, even though goading him into writing it is the biggest pain. Finally, he cut me a deal I didn't even suggest - I arrange for my dad and the girls in the house I want to move into to meet, and he'll write me a letter, promise crossmyheart hopetodie yesyesyes I promised I would so I'll do it. So I got them together, and he wrote, and this afternoon, I received my second letter; and I love it. Every word, every grammar error (yes, leave me to say that, I know), every spidery letter in his cramped writing; every sentiment, from the perfect opener to the perfect sign-off...it's wonderful. Being able to reread the compliments, the encouragement, the hope for something deeper yet to come...I love it. From the familiar greeting to the misspelled "Sweetheart" at the bottom, I love it
mostly because it helps me to know, even the smallest bit better, the green-eyed author I am so inexpressibly fond of.
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