Taught

Falling in love again at 47 and marrying for the second time at 52 was a miracle. And a bit frightening.  But, then again, falling in love is always phenomenal and terrifying.  We took care of each other ― little inconsequential things: me, placing a water glass on his bedside table; him, refilling my coffee as I wrote in the morning.  We touched each other often, like shorthand: I’m here.