You slept on the sofa last night.
The thunder might scare Izzy.
I looked for you everywhere. I looked for you in all the places I thought you should be. I thought I had found you but was wrong. And wrong again.
Then there you were. Love giving the tour and taking the stairs and offering your hand.
And life began.
And now years later you sleep on the sofa on your birthday.
She tries so hard and works all day to give gift without gift. And she looks at me and worries and I reassure her it will all be good with you.
And it has been good with you.
We have laid together and whispered loud will our year ever come? And you rise every morning at crack of dawn and work till tired is in your eyes.
Will there ever be just one more hour of sleep or just one break?
And the question comes on phone and I see your face and know you want to say no but will have to say yes. And yes is spelled in sweet four letter word.
And my appreciation and love and desire for you longs long after you sleep on your birthday.
When He knitted you forty-four years ago He wove my being into every stitch. And my being by your side is what I was searching for and I give you my hand to walk to forty-five.
And my year has come again, and again, and again.
Gift from you.
And my year has come again, and again, and again.
Gift from you.
And if there ever was perfection in imperfection it is you.
