Epitomes

I am no longer used to this life. I see it in the little things - a second person in the kitchen, not being able to cough at night, papers heaped that I can't just move or throw out, communal bedtimes - bits of living that are simpler when alone. But the richness is gained in other ways - like how I sit now, awake, alone with the morning and the silent twisting of the fan, the dog on its walk barking down the sidewalk chasing squirrels, the leaves of the aloe and jade and attila glowing with infused light, and I know that Ethan is only ten feet away, through a wall, sleeping again, ready to wake whenever I want him to, rolling over when I slipped out this morning and finding me minutes later in the kitchen fixing tea. To make sure everything was all right. I sent him back to bed - we were up late with friends and it's early for us anyway - but he did come, ask, enfold me as I held in the coughing. The greatest curse and the greatest joy of the shared life: I am no longer alone.