The root of my happiness can be found in the wrinkles at the edges of her smile. I stare at her as if I’m staring at the sun – squinting for the details I’ve overlooked – the faded freckles of childhood – the adolescent scars – the collegiate wounds. These individualities are the roots to her past. And each one of them tells a story that she might not remember, but that I can imagine. Some day I’ll let her fill the gaps of my make believe memories with her stories of truth, but for now I’m in love with what I know.
Written from 9:15 pm to 9:35 pm on Monday, August 1, 2011 at home in Traverse City, Michigan.
