“I won’t be too late,” I say to her, and
she scowls at me as she heads off to prepare herself for bed. I return to my writing,
caught up in a whirlwind of new ideas, new characters, and plot changes, all of
them, simultaneously, screaming for release. For hours, I’m consumed as the clock
continues to tick away, completely unaware of time or space. Once the whirlwinds finally
die down into a raging squall, I open the bedroom door and slide into bed,
hoping she’s not upset. With trepidation, I ease myself between the sheets.
I then stroke her silky, soft hair and instantly find comfort,
peace, and solace as I nestle myself up against her sleeping body. She stirs. I
wonder, for a moment, if she knows how beautiful she really is, and I close my
eyes as I gently trace the outline of her face, feeling her image in my mind. She
purrs softly and I whisper, “I love you.” She pulls her pillow close and
whispers back, “I love you, too, baby.”
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