Many leather-bound books
"Oh, this is one of my favorites! I can't believe you have this too! But...of course you do!"
"Aye, I remember that one well."
This was a bit of the conversation that took place as I sat on my knees in front of the bookshelf in my boyfriend's childhood home. We had been scanning the shelves with delight, finding memories and joyful exuberance in the recalling of tales. As with many other things in each other's world, we kept happening upon similar fabrics, books, stories, shoes, tv shows, vegetable gardens and more for the last two years of our friendship.
I picked out a little book "Woody, Hazel and Little Pip" and teared up a bit. When I was younger, it was a favorite in our house and we often reference it still today. I put it back on the shelf next to all of the Little House on The Prairie books and thought of my father's soft voice reading Farmer Boy aloud to us at night before bed.
I sat, cross legged, in my calico nightgown and watched him pull out a story about a Robin Hood, then one about a farmer and his wheel, entranced by his little stories and his hands on the pages of the book.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't talk much about my relationship on here, as it is no one's business really. I've always been very private about that. However, I would like to share this bit above and what I thought of it later... He sent me a text message the day after this that said something like "It was so funny sitting there at the bookshelves with you and seeing how many books we both had growing up." I thought on it a moment before replying.
I was struck with this thought, books shape you, as a child. They shape your imagination and your ideas of what the world may be. They expand your horizons and take you on journeys far away. It made so much sense, really, that we should share the same books and stories and movies from our youth, for we shared such a familiar heart. The sun as it hits the trees when you turn a bend on the road, the look and feel of mountains below and above us, the sultry summer air late at night as you walk down the railroad track barefoot, these things moved us both in the same fashion.
It what you always think, when you're alone or when you aren't with the right person. You think to yourself, "why does no one understand why I am so moved right now? I wish someone else felt what I feel in this moment!" You get so frustrated when something small feel extraordinary to your bones and blood but everyone else looks past it.
I have found all those wishes, in him. He sees life the way I do, La Vie En Rose. He may not think just like I do or understand my moods or history, but I know that if I asked him to lay on the green and look at the sky, we'd find the same shapes in the clouds above. That makes all the difference in the world.
Those are my thoughts for this grey day, as I dive into more unpacking and organizing and as he works, sleepily, in his outdoor world.
I wish you all a good weekend and contentment.
Slainte
BRM
"Aye, I remember that one well."
This was a bit of the conversation that took place as I sat on my knees in front of the bookshelf in my boyfriend's childhood home. We had been scanning the shelves with delight, finding memories and joyful exuberance in the recalling of tales. As with many other things in each other's world, we kept happening upon similar fabrics, books, stories, shoes, tv shows, vegetable gardens and more for the last two years of our friendship.
I picked out a little book "Woody, Hazel and Little Pip" and teared up a bit. When I was younger, it was a favorite in our house and we often reference it still today. I put it back on the shelf next to all of the Little House on The Prairie books and thought of my father's soft voice reading Farmer Boy aloud to us at night before bed.
I sat, cross legged, in my calico nightgown and watched him pull out a story about a Robin Hood, then one about a farmer and his wheel, entranced by his little stories and his hands on the pages of the book.
part of my own little bookshelves...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't talk much about my relationship on here, as it is no one's business really. I've always been very private about that. However, I would like to share this bit above and what I thought of it later... He sent me a text message the day after this that said something like "It was so funny sitting there at the bookshelves with you and seeing how many books we both had growing up." I thought on it a moment before replying.
I was struck with this thought, books shape you, as a child. They shape your imagination and your ideas of what the world may be. They expand your horizons and take you on journeys far away. It made so much sense, really, that we should share the same books and stories and movies from our youth, for we shared such a familiar heart. The sun as it hits the trees when you turn a bend on the road, the look and feel of mountains below and above us, the sultry summer air late at night as you walk down the railroad track barefoot, these things moved us both in the same fashion.
It what you always think, when you're alone or when you aren't with the right person. You think to yourself, "why does no one understand why I am so moved right now? I wish someone else felt what I feel in this moment!" You get so frustrated when something small feel extraordinary to your bones and blood but everyone else looks past it.
I have found all those wishes, in him. He sees life the way I do, La Vie En Rose. He may not think just like I do or understand my moods or history, but I know that if I asked him to lay on the green and look at the sky, we'd find the same shapes in the clouds above. That makes all the difference in the world.
Those are my thoughts for this grey day, as I dive into more unpacking and organizing and as he works, sleepily, in his outdoor world.
I wish you all a good weekend and contentment.
Slainte
BRM
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