we are living such quiet hours, spending our time so closely knit together. i mostly tend to francis, my christopher mostly tends to me, and it means everything to me that we can be what each other needs.
we have taken so many strolls in the park, eaten so many breakfasts in bed. we abandon our phones and live so deeply the moment we are in. we delight in parcels addressed to mister francis brown. we toss open the shutters and let every drop of sunshine in. we while away whole stretches of time studying the landscape of him, noting every toe and stretch and eyelash, as though we are enthusiasts keeping a field guide (aren't we?). we tell him our plans as a family and our hopes for his life. we volley declarations of marvel: we have a son. we fill our home with music — bob dylan, arlo guthrie, the lumineers, bach. we watch the sun's rise and meet sleep where it comes. it's thrilling to discover the hours before morning in such a way. hours once lived only in my sleep, an idle passage of time, are now the ones i know most intimately, cling to most desperately, as my body nourishes his in a dark room made light by his bright eyes blinking curiously at me.
it's all adding up to a lifetime together. it's all adding up to forever.