I'm up and showered and perusing the wealth of internet info for a breakfast recipe...something hearty, or maybe just something sweet. Pancakes, I think.
Behind me, he lays still in bed. After returning he swears that he isn't leaving the comfort of its pillow top and soft sheets for a time likened to eternity. I hear his shallow breaths of sleep and now and then he readjusts beneath the blankets. I could just now leave this screen, take only a few short steps and touch him for the mere sake of feeling his skin, if I wanted. He is home.
The funny, yet predictable phenomenon surrounding this to-and-fro pace is that anger and upset have a very limited hold when there he is walking toward you in the baggage claim belly of the airport. And when he wraps you up almost twice in his strong arms so much bigger than you or your own, their presence dwindles still. When he inhales the scent of your hair and tells you he loves you and missed you, and when he smiles in that slightly boy-ish way because he really does and really did, those emotional burs have long been shed. For better or worse, they are left on the worn tile floor to be swept away by the late-night cleaning crew. And I am happy to leave them there [unresolved] because giddy is a lot less thorny and doesn't prickle through the top of my socks.