I take her for granted. But in my defense, it’s easy to do with someone whose love is so effortless.
Kind of like when you watch Usain Bolt run and it looks like he’s barely trying.
She packed a lunch for me last week, which I grabbed without even a thank you, and rushed out the door. When I opened it later, I found four turkey slices, rolled up like tiny burritos with cheese, carrot sticks and a little cup of humus. To the side was a snack-sized biscotti.
I have joked with JJ that every time I say lunch box I feel like a little boy. Something about the biscotti stopped me. I imagined her carefully packing a meal for me, pausing and then giving it that extra touch. I was filled with tenderness. My head hurt in the place tears come from. A warmth akin to some combination of first love and childhood. Someone cares about me, and for me. Not only persistently, but also precisely, with an affectionate attention to detail.
I’m not an easy person to love, so I am grateful that I have someone who does, even when I’m not looking, even when I don’t say thank you.
Happy birthday, JJ
(yes, I did call you the Usain Bolt of Love)
Handcuffs Hurt 