Hands covering mine. My gaze drops and I start to resent the needy weakness rising in my chest. The tension that comes from never sitting still and never being enough. “I need you oh, I need you.” Hands pressing mine. “Every hour I need you.”
The reassurance comes before I even ask. You are worth it to me – this is worth is to me. Am I worth it all to you?
You unfold a map, pulled from your chest pocket. My eyes lock on yours, rather than the route.
Do you trust me? Trust that I have a vision in mind of who you’ll be? Trust that I can trim those wild branches and errant vines?
Hands clasping mine. Settling into a gentle, simple peace. Sidewalk cafe table, a holy of holies. I count on you like this morning coffee.