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December 10th always reminds me that another year awaits. 

Another year of surprises. Of hurt. Of sadness. Of happy. Of love. Of sacred epiphanies. 

It’s been a year I met my husband, a year that’s felt like decades. 

How do I begin to even explain what has happened in these short 12 months?

How does anyone put into words what love is? 

What being married feels like? 

When your whole life you were convinced no one would ever want to be with you for very long, let alone want to marry you.

When all you’ve known were boys, not men.

When even the men disappointed.

How do I let this love seep through me and stain?

How does anyone?

How do you remind yourself of warmness and keep the fire burning?

 How do you re-ignite?

How will I taste when you bite into my heart?

How will we make the time feel vast? 

Full? 

I worry too much.

I’m at a stump. 

I have much to heal, and I must do it with this husband of mine right beside me.

We both must. 

His smell is my salve.

He is Holy.

A prayer of flesh.

A beautiful sin.

A choir in his chest, an offering of forgiveness.

He takes me as I am. 

I am a scar that smiles. 

A witch of nothing.

A nothing witch.

I am annoyed with my lack of understanding.

I am annoyed with my uneducated brain that’s in constant turmoil from an ignorance that swallows.

I have fooled you all.

I am not what you think.

But I will continue.

Because this love feels damn good.


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