Thursday, February 10, 2011


There’s a gentle rain falling outside, but you don’t mind; for once, you don’t have laundry on the line. The car needed a bit of a rinse, and the garden was becoming too many shades of brown. It’s a summer rain, so there’s the promise of warm weather, maybe even as soon as tomorrow, and you probably won’t even have to put on an extra layer of clothes. That’s how love feels.

There’s a pot shivering on the stove top as its contents bubble quietly, and a cold glass dropping beads of water onto the counter top- the way you do when you sidestep out of the shower. Two plates say a dozen sentences to each other: We’re not alone/we share food/we’re about to eat/we have each other. They continue murmuring as you try the lights, dimming them first, then brighter again. Finally, you grab a couple of candles, and set them up in a way that they’ll glow and send reflections off all the right places without causing any glare.

The house isn’t completely tidy. You wouldn’t welcome TV cameras in to tell you about disinfectants at this point, nor would you ask an estate agent to come and put it on show, but there’s something warmer about it. The magazine on the floor over there is a clue to someone’s interests and passions. The two coffee cups at the sink are a reminder of a shared moment, as is the empty wine bottle next to the back door. There’s more laundry to do in the basket in the bathroom, next to where toothbrushes lean casually against each other. There’s even half a sandwich in the fridge-well, nearly half. A small hollow bite mark where a mouth had been is further evidence of a shared space.

The bed’s made up. It’s one of those things you both enjoy: making up the bed, and being able to climb into it at the end of the day, disturbing the flat landscape with your bodies’ hills and valleys. It’s such a companionable place. Not just for the physical intimacy, but the conversations that went on until the cars outside stopped driving past, then countless cups of coffee laughed over when you both woke- feeling tired but happy. You’ve asked questions of each other which nobody else has ever asked, and blushed as you shared dreams and ideas.

If you look out the front window, you can see the world passing by, people in delivery trucks, grown men on bicycles pushing newspapers into letterboxes. Women balanced like scales with shopping bags, and school kids in noisy groups, laughing too hard at each other’s foolishness. The rain has dried up, and there’s a little steam rising off the road, some leaves sliding down the gutters to the storm drains. A plastic bag is lifted by a gust into the air, suddenly, and wheels about. It’s joined by a second one, and they head off down the street, over the houses, dancing and rolling over each other, carefree as they head for somewhere else to play.

That’s what love feels like. To me.


  1. You are awesome. I really love reading your writing. That is all.

  2. wow babe love it, you have such a way with words and setting scenes in the imagination. dont ever stop writing you have a gift

  3. What an awesome piece of writing. It makes me want to write again, but I think my words are now photos, which in so many ways, are words.

    Love it.

  4. Love this post Scott. Thank you for sharing

  5. Thanks for reading, Karen, Neal and Leslie :)


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