I’m fearful of sounding cliche. I’ve ingested enough words from enough people who wrote better than I would ever write ,( if I died and came back around the wheel as a writer.) that I feel anything I have to say has been said better by someone else, a thousand times over.
Now that I’ve gotten that disclaimer out of the way, this:
Sometimes when I look at my husband’s face, it feels in my heart like he is the ocean. Vast and dark and knowable, but difficult and filled with secret movements.
Then I remember that I am the wind,and I move freely over the surface of the deep.