Faces of screen-sisters emerge from alphabet-blue and now at last you’re real in ripest flesh. Your messy buns and babydoll bangs, your fiery curls and midnight waves and holy tears spill and linger warm on my shoulder in our trembling anticipation-drenched embraces. Your eyes just sparkle into mine when I pull my face back to meet them again and again.
Finally blessed with the sacred gift of one roof, one moon above us all, we easily flow like smooth, sweet golden honey to serve one another with prayer and touch and poured wine and broken bread and soap and scrub-brush and camera and velvet and wood and paper. I kiss your baby’s head and delight in the wondrous round bellies of this one and that one, skin stretched tight over a hidden her and secret them. I've learned your soul and now soak in present, perfect companionship with your smile, your voice, your living, breathing loveliness.
We pour and plunk our pain and joy and fear and insecurity and worry and brokenness and healing and hope and bravest love together in a swirling pot, this beautiful stone-soup feast of heart-words, and weep to feel God stir it all and fold us one into the other. My fingers twine timidly around yours and yours back around mine, because maybe now we finally belong to one another in the way we’ve always almost-belonged to one another in some distant land, then found and held onto, real, for as long as time allows.