September 30, 2024

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?” I ask.

My partner is silent for a beat, then turns to me and lets out a warm, cavernous laugh that fills the air.

She dips a spoonful of honey into our morning coffees, joking that mine is really just sweetened milk with a dash of actual coffee. Her unbrushed hair spills over a shirt that’s three sizes too big for her—a faded blue football jersey, worn from age. When she looks up at me, the lines at the corners of her eyes ease into a crease. Her eyes are kind and inviting, like the entryway to a home where candles are burning; like the crackle of a fire filling the room. There’s an easy rhythm between us, buzzing along as the rest of the world wakes up.

When we can, my partner and I begin our mornings slowly and intentionally. We sit across from each other at a small dining table made for two, as the darkness of morning trades its colors for the blues of dawn, sunlight greeting us in slivers between the window blinds.

We take mouthful bites of our breakfast and talk about what our days look like, the conversation flowing like a stream meandering effortlessly through bends. Our voices sound like old friends catching up after years apart. And in between bleary-eyed sips of coffee and crumbs of toast falling onto the table, there’s a quiet love that feels like a metaphor for yearning. At the table, we make room for being human. The dried drool sits at the corners of our mouths, and my hair sticks up like an unmowed lawn. With unbrushed teeth, I kiss her, my lips closed.

My mornings used to feel like hurricanes—like sprinting out the door with half a piece of toast dangling from my mouth. My partner has taught me to find patience in a world that’s standing still. Like a dog-eared page in a well-loved book, we know how the next sentence of our lives reads.

Every morning, I am reminded that our love feels like a red-brick home with a picket fence, the cement made of honey and “how’s your heart today”s. We move through this world together like we’ve done this dance a million times, the palms of her hands gentle on my shoulders; we are an alphabet of letters that roll off the tongue with ease.

Before I leave for the day, my partner weaves her arms around me and plants a kiss on my forehead. “I love you! Stay safe,” she says.

Every morning with her is a song that I can’t wait to play again. Our mornings are sacred.