We are lying in the field, the grass green and soft, the small blades flattened by our red picnic blanket and our bodies on top. The skies are clear, blue, picturesque. The sunlight is filtering through the leaves of the tree above us, and it gives your skin a speckled golden glow. You are so warm; you are so warm. Your long chestnut hair smells like coconut shampoo, the shampoo I always know to buy because it’s your favorite, that artificial coconut smell that rises with the steam when you take a shower, filling the whole bathroom with the scent of you. Our towels lie nearby, muddy from lying on the wet ground, wet from drying ourselves off when we got out of the water of the springs nearby. It has just rained, the ground is still wet, the air has an earthy scent and the mud below the grass is still just a little bit slippery when we walk, our feet sinking into the moist earth. It is so beautiful, you and I, here. Your eyes are closed and there is just a hint of a smile on your otherwise placid face, so beautiful. The makeup you apply in the morning ran off in the water but your face is still perfect, skin so beautiful. I love you. I love here. I love now. We both work all week, and now here we are, together, and I just feel okay. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, all your beauty and wit and that wonderful laugh. We’ve been together for about a year now but the magic, the thrill of the first time we held hands, the first time we kissed- it’s still there. I feel it when I’m near you, and I miss it when you’re away, and I know you feel the same. I don’t really want to leave, to put our towels, our blanket back in our bag and drive home, but I know I won’t mind it too much because you will be with me. Maybe we’ll stop and get dinner on the way home, go to the little Mexican place you love, we can share queso and you can eat your favorite enchiladas. We know all about each other, our favorite foods, places, shows, teas, hours of the day, our biggest fears, our plans, our dreams. I’ve never met someone I loved like you. The metaphor is rote, but we fit together like puzzle pieces, like God shaped us as each other’s perfect complements. You have helped me when I struggled, when I fell down. You lift me up. And I hope I can do the same for you.
You turn over and open your eyes, squinting at the sunlight. They are a piercing green, your cheeks underneath dappled with the faintest collection of freckles, constellations formed around the bright green planets of your eyes, and I am in your orbit. When you’ve woken up, when you’re exhausted from a long day at work, when you smile, your eyes are always bright. “Hey,” you say, and I smile. “Hey.”