Tonight Paul and I, feeling antsy and confined, made our way into town to pass the time with one of our favorite activities--looking at other people's old junk. For you, the uninitiated, this meant perusing the aisles of our local antique mall and the Goodwill.
We took our time, walking slowly and examining rows and rows of creepy porcelain dolls, ugly dinner plates, adorably quirky salt and pepper shakers (hint, hint), and enough Star Wars paraphernalia to keep Paul's attention for longer than I could stand.
We split ways for a moment at the Goodwill. Paul distracted himself with a towering wall of outdated electronics, and I delved into an aisle of haphazardly stacked kitchen utensils. Finding nothing to catch my interest, I lifted my eyes from the stained Tupperware and souveneir coffee mugs to see where Paul had gone.
As I scanned the tops of the shelving for his distinctive high and tight, I saw a man walk past the end of my aisle. It took my jumbled mind a moment to register that the man was my love.
Time froze for a moment, and I took him in. And as I absorbed his profile, the expression that graced his face, his long torso, the curves of his calves, I felt as if I had just fallen in love. He was, once again, brand new to me, and just as I did when I first fell in love with him, I ached with the intensity of it.
Tonight I am comforted to know that I will hang on to that intensity of love until the day I die.