, , , , , , , , ,

You woke me with a message, Good morning, gorgeous. I was too sleepy for the turns and twists you’d already started in my stomach. I’d slept comfortably without this nervousness for hours. And, now it’s back. I sighed and buried my flushed face in my pillow. I was alone in my room, you were miles from me, maybe in yours, or dancing like a fool in the apartment below yours to nineties music with your brothers, our friends. There was no reason to be embarrassed.

It’s like every morning when I wake and my Savior loves me like this. Good morning, gorgeous, He says. He’s ready for me and all my mistakes, teeth unbrushed, hair all a mess. He wants me a part of His day just like that. And so while I eat breakfast, I try to accept that love and say okay. And live the day.

I haven’t worn makeup for weeks, now. When I wash my face, I put on lotion so my skin doesn’t dry up, so it doesn’t itch. But I haven’t been dabbing concealer under my tired eyes or bronzer over my cheeks so my smile looks smiley-er. When I met you, I had just gotten out of the shower and thrown on jeans and a t-shirt. It’s been the same these past two weeks. So, it’s a little strange the way you called me beautiful today, and last night.  And the way you will again next week.  But it’s the same as how my King wakes me up and takes my hand and runs through the day with me as I fall and trip and make the same damn mistakes.