Sunday, May 8, 2011
I like that I cannot label him. He's not typical. He's not a man who fits into any one stereotype. Even those eyes are not easily catalogued. He's simple but weirdly complex. Sometimes I call him Columbo because he has the uncanny ability to reveal parts of himself so well hidden that even I - a person who has seen more of him than anyone else - can sometimes be caught off balance. Perhaps this ability makes him good at his job. He can get the most hardened criminal to shake his hand while cuffing the free one. I admire this ability to keep parts of himself secret. I am his polar opposite. I keep nothing under my surface, I do not hide even the darkest parts of me. Perhaps he loves this most about me, this ability to reveal who I am in one large swoop. There is no mystery to me, and there seems to be none with him, until there is. Columbo incarnate.
I always want to wake up beside this man after a night of whispered conversations that last until the first morning light. I always want to collapse into him when the world seems to much, when the only solid thing is the knowledge that his embrace will never waiver. I always want to steal a glance from across the room, while kids hang from our limbs and laughter shakes our house - and wonder what color his eyes are today.