When I started this project, I made a promise to myself that I would honour those in my life who are not physically in my life, at least not near enough for me to reach out and hold onto, or collapse into, or cuddle up next to as regularly as I would like. It is this promise that prevents me from acknowledging the many marvelous people who save my life, or rather make it worth living, on a regular basis. People like M, who sleeps through the night in the crook of my arm and smiles at me upon waking. People like Aunty L, who welcomes me with a cup of Red Zinger when I drop by and builds a nest for the baby crab I brought with me. People like Ginger and Blondie, who volunteer to babysit so that J and I can take a night to be better parents. The list is long and the gratitude grows even as it goes unspoken. I love you all.
But this post is not for you. This post is for another newcomer to the family, though as the years brush by that newness is wearing away. Still, he is new to me if only because we've never met; regardless, he is among the fourteen and very much worthy of these words of love.
He is a poet-scholar, a wordsmith and a player. He is a lover of the stage and of staging love. I admit I have fallen in love with his words and the worlds they create. He knows a good wine and a good woman, makes inappropriate jokes at appropriate times and listens with the sort of rare and genuine interest that makes a person feel she could talk to him, for real, for a long, long time. He makes you feel like family, and in this case I feel lucky to believe that's so.
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