She calls me baby.


She is tall and angular, and describes herself as an awkward preteen.  To me, she was words like statuesque, beautiful, stately, comely and my admiration grows for her on a daily basis as I find more and more about her to admire.  Her tenderness toward her family, the way she describes her grandchildren, the twinkle that comes into her eyes when she relates a story about one of her children – these things make my heart feel full.  I always listen raptly, feeling a great privilege that she shares these bits and pieces of her life with me, for I am no one of any consequence.  She told me she would never be able to be open about our relationship.  This is especially hard for me, but I am trying my best to accept that I am just one more secret.

Her love for me could be measured in great quantities, if such a thing were possible.  Trillions and billions, tons and megatons, etc.  I never questioned her love for me at all.  It was well written into each kiss, well executed in each glance, every touch only further deepened the feelings between us until sometimes our thoughts hung pregnant in the air like fattened raindrops that fell across us.  I knew she felt these things as much as I did but we rarely spoke of them.  Our time together was precious, fleeting, and no matter how long it was, it was always too short – leaving me wanting more of her.  Her kisses welded onto my skin and left me breathless.  Her touches inflamed me until I thought I might go mad from the heat of her fingertips.

She was a surprise in my life, like snow on an early May day or seeing a horse on a busy downtown street.  I was simply going to shop one November afternoon and there she sat, her head down, her eyes buried in a book, slightly hunched over, and then she looked up, focused her tranquil languid gaze on me, and smiled.  I’m quite certain I blushed for I had been staring intently at her form, wondering who she was and where she’d come from, and even curiouser still over what she might be reading.  But I simply ambled by, pretending to stare intently at something else in my line of sight, noticing out of the corner of my eye as I passed that she had returned to reading her book.  Little did I know that this single ephemeral moment in time would forever change my life.


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