sarahrose: (necklace)

I have a friend. I don't see her terribly often, but her hair's a handful of wild colours, she's wonder-ful, and I adore the lens she holds to the world. I spent an evening with her earlier this week: dinner, peanut butter-and-chocolate fondue with a terrible soundtrack, three different tints of hair dye, spurts of sadness, blushing, and being in love, and her lovely bra collection. She's poetry, and now I'm left with gorgeous images and prettily turned phrases running through my mind, like: She twisted lilac into corkscrewed curls that frame my face - she, the girl who's on a mission to keep track of kisses until a thousand before she loses count; she, who I'd never seen in love until two nights ago - and she was right: it does soften her. For the unadulterated sadness I'd never before seen in her eyes, she's fallen in love, and that's worthwhile, in and of itself. Softened release, for her, looks like sadness.

I updated my FaceBook status last night to read: had a yummy day that consisted of sunshine, a vintage lace slip, sifting through 60 gigs of musical treasure on a borrowed iPod, a happily unexpected connection over coffee, and a just-gifted flowey skirt that moves like she does. Now, to enjoy her date-night with that redheaded boy of hers!

My friend tore her new lover's wedding band off his finger the other day, and flung it against his chest with enough strength to generate an impressive thump. Her jealousy, her struggle, her steadfastness in the love that makes the danger worth it (Won't you come in for tea and make me laugh?, she asked him, a request for healing) make me feel less despairingly embarrassed about my own outbursts. That date that my fiancé and I had made for last night (to see a local production of Age of Arousal)... well, I believe that the words "this is the worst date I have ever been on" came out of my mouth rather venomously once or twice. Tears, fears, and lessons in communications. After all was said, and done, I did fall asleep wrapped up in his body, in his love and lust, and so I suppose that's something. It's more than something, that we go to bed together in love each and every night. His phone may be bursting with overeager text-messages from the woman he's begun to date - and that may trigger me ugly when I just want to be excited for and with them, and he may not always know the exact right way to appease me right in those moments (as if there was an "exact right way"), and I may feel compelled to write to her and wring her neck for thinking it's at all appropriate to pine at him for more of his time when he and I are still struggling with every ounce of energy we have to find our own grounding through this as it is - but despite whatever else may be going on in our lives at any given time, coming home to each other is still always the absolute best part of our respective days. And that's abundance.

That Love is Always Good.
That Love is Always Good.
That Love is Always Good.

Music:: Peach Plum Pear - Owen Pallett

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