Her Charmed Life

I’m not about to write some hot and heavy letter with sweaty muscles and some writhing squeaky girl. So don’t get your hopes up. Que “Next to you” by John Vincent III

I’m not sure what exactly is “normal” about someone who inspires such thoughts in me. I don’t believe in coincidence. I certainly don’t believe in things like love at first sight. That seems silly and almost trivial to me. I do believe in myself and my soul though. You are simply… familiar. As the earth is familiar with the wind. If that’s even simple, “normal”.  

I am a woman of many words. They fill my mind to the brim, bursting from my mouth in a stream of letters so jumbled that I often have to dissect them to get to the root. My wavering and unsteady thoughtstream buzzes around me- darting and drifting, wispy and forceful. It’s chaotic and difficult to grasp, like the air itself. I find myself searching for something; someone to tether me when my mind has me floating too far off the ground. In all that searching, of course I found you.

Some people are an experience, like man discovering fire for the first time. That experience lasts centuries, millenia. It keeps going in new and exciting ways. Fire becomes candles and light bulbs and heat and power. It evolves to the environment in amazing ways. You are not something as grand as that. You are much simpler yet infinitely more pronounced.

Knowing you is like seeing how the morning mist kisses the mountain tops in East Tennessee. It’s the peaks and hollers in which the wind rushes through, screeching her delight. The boulders tumbling down, down, down the mountain side. No sign “slow, falling rocks” or nets can stop the Earth from chasing her around the next bend. The calm you bring about is like when the mountain range finally quiets all those who find rest in his protective shadow at the end of the day. He successfully tames the wind with a story of cicadas and gentle creaks of tree bark. She thanks him with a gentle breeze of rustling leaves. The safety you exude is like the hidey holes that litter the range. Big and small, they provide a safe place to sleep, to rest, to breathe. As the night deepens and the shadows elongate, morphing into horrible beasties who are most certainly looking for a quick little bit of something to curb their late night cravings, the hidden caves you provide wait. At last, something that would surely have been dinner, finds the small reprieve provided by the earth. Then surrounded in soothing darkness, the dirt still warm from the sun, deep and rejuvenating sleep is found. The sun winks over the horizon at last, dawn has broken. The mountains shiver awake, touched by morning kisses from the sleepy mist, and the day starts again. The air shakes off her sleep, twirling and skipping in the sunshine, racing the rocks as they float down the creeks. Joyous.

So no. Knowing you isn’t something as grand and amazing as experiencing someone else. It’s not light, and heat, not yearning and waiting and wild naked thoughts. It’s familiar, like the earth knows the wind. It’s normal, like the smell of the leaves in the mountains on a summer breeze. It’s something I have lived in thousands of times, and something I always long for, just one more time. It’s restful and content. Happy.