Emily is sitting on my bed wearing my Yankees cap, tossing a baseball in the air and catching it. The cap is too big for her and it keeps slipping down over her eyes, she smiles each time she pushes it up with the back of her throwing hand, while the ball is in the air. It's almost like a new way of playing jacks; throw the ball, tip the cap, catch. She told me she played Little League as a girl, first base. She tosses the ball to me where I'm sitting here at the computer and we play catch across the room. She does this whenever I'm feeling low, she knows it always cheers me up.
She also loves reading every word I write about her. When I showed her "Ghost Wedding" her eyes welled up and for a moment I couldn't tell if she was crying or laughing, then she turned on that incredible smile, while the tears ran down her cheeks. God, she never looked so beautiful as then!
When she finished reading she looked up at me and asked, "Jim, did you really like me in that outfit? I was so afraid I'd look like a dork! I only wore it because it was in your mind after you watched the Cirque du Soleil video, but when I was putting it on I was like, God, he's gonna laugh at me!" True, it wasn't really her style. She's much more into jeans and boots and the occasional denim skirt. But Em, if you could have seen yourself, wow! You had me, right then and there. You melted me and I was yours. When I struck the flint and steel, and lit the candle you held, it was forever.
And now it's about one in the morning, and you're curled up in my bed under the covers wearing my Yankees t shirt for a night gown, so still and so silent. There's a little soft fragment of a smile on your lips, and I'm melting all over again looking at you.
It's all so quiet, so happy and complete, and in a few minutes I'll climb under the covers with you and hold you tight until morning comes.
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