I don't know where I'm going with this, but it's what's in my head. Little do you know... this is how most of my posts begin.
I cooked yesterday. It was drizzly and cool outside and it put me in the mood to be domestic. I made a pork roast with sauerkraut and potatoes, and baked a blueberry pie for dessert. Then I took the whole deal over to my paramour's house (okay, his name is Steve). He was very appreciative. But beyond that, it felt good to cook (not that I haven't cooked for him before, but I'd yet to do the whole meal deal), felt so normal and real.
He almost immediately asked if he could share some of the pie with his neighbor. "Do you mind, Honey?" Are you kidding? You guys know me... I find stuff like that endearing, especially that he asked before I'd had a chance to suggest it (and I was going to). Said neighbor seemed fairly dazzled by the whole prospect. I felt doubly good about having spent the afternoon crafting pastry.
We had dinner. We curled up together and watched something on the Discovery Channel. It was the kind of evening that I love. I'm no fool (not completely, anyway). I know the bloom is new and pretty and intoxicating. I also know what we're two strong-willed individuals and there's likely to be some kind of thorny clash over something at some point. That's life. That's love. I'll take it all.
As I sat there, head leaned on his chest and listening to his heartbeat, feeling his fingertips dance along my arm, I found myself thinking about the relationship in terms of a bottle of good wine: Heady, yet uncomplicated... rich terroir (earthiness), piquant overtones with smooth, glowing undertones... pairs well with blueberry-flavored kisses.
Y'know? It's really pretty up here in the clouds. Think I'll stay for a spell.