When Things are Simple

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I find myself happiest in the late afternoon, when the summer sun is still strong. He and I walk barefoot down the driveway and weave through his suburban development. I jump through strangers’ sprinklers while he laughs his sweet laugh – the one he only shares with me. We talk about silly things that only we understand. And as we talk, sweet sounds surround us: the hum of a distant lawnmower, the scratch of skateboards on the pavement, a nearby whine of family pets ready for supper.
Occasionally, we race. Bare feet pounding against sharp pebbles. But the pain is barely noticeable on days like this. Days when the clouds dance lazily above us. Days when we use strangers’ lawns as personal lawn chairs. Days when we don’t think about anything but each other. Days when nothing is complicated and all is simple. I hold his hand, smooth, long, and sun-worn, and it is days like this when I am happiest.
- Sept. 24, '07





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