The Man, The Morning & The Mourning

I arose too early again, awakened by the rustling of the man I love the most.

This mortal man to whom my spirit, soul, and body are betrothed and inextricably bound. I would take a mortal wound to spare him without a moment of hesitation.


He is mine. He is His. Both are worthy. 

His lunch I pack the night before because he needs little that I can rightly give, so I nourish. We, each so strong in our own strengths, give gifts, each to the other. Things we can do ourselves, but the other just does better.

Love nourishes. I love him deep. 

He dons his work boots. I embrace and kiss his neck, it is where I can reach. I clutch him close this dark and rainy morning. I know not why – but I feel.

I lock the door behind him as an added layer of protection.

Protection walked out the door to provide. 

The steam blows over coffee grinds – it awakens sleepy places.

I sit in my chair, she who had to eat on the floor because she was the dog – has “a chair.” The gift of a place is not lost on me.

I open the big black bible book of words left behind from yesterdays meal.

It took 4.7 seconds for reality to sink in.

To His dying breath they mocked Him.

His crime?

He told the Truth.

Today and in the coming days, I must periodically excuse myself from the public table.

I must feast on fuller things.

I must. 

I too hunger for justice, truth and hope.

If you need me, you will find me in a secret and sacred place.

With an upturned chin to Him who is Justice, Truth, and Hope.

The coffee is hot.

The candles are lit.

The flame is small but bright enough to illuminate the way.

My way. 


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