We link hands as we walk these sandy beaches, these packed dirt paths, these city streets because they are ours to travel. And we only get the once.
We chose those stretches of years ago to work, to co-labor, to lug and place the pieces as they come.
We vowed to forgive and find beauty in the unlovely and all the twists and knots of one other.
Over time we learned to notice more the color that wraps even long, bland days.
We praise God together
and try to remember just how small we are.
We know we need lots of fine cheese,
some mighty sweet 80’s ballads and doses of all manner of fun to keep us fueled.
Throw some good people watching into the mix, and we’re golden.
It’s joy to have you as the man at my side — the one who wants to know me better,
who cradles with me the good of the moment
and waits patiently while I pick up souvenirs along the way.
It’s joy to laugh and lean against my dearest friend and recount our journey.
When we fall into bed, I exhale long from the day that’s drawn closed and say thank you.
I’m glad it’s you I lace up shoes with the next day,
to do it all again.
Thank you for walking with me, my love.