38 Special serenades me through my earphones tonight, and I am consumed with thoughts of you.
.
The irony isn’t lost on me, you know.
You wondered once whether you clung too tightly.
. . . BABY . . .
I can’t even feel you holding on.
.
You became my Someone To Believe In.
And now I’m suffocating in this ‘whole lotta space to breathe in’.
Real love is harder than I ever could’ve known.
~ Dedicated to Dads this Father’s Day ~
He’s tired; more tired than usual these days, and for good reason.
After brief but intense negotiations with the furball for space in my lap, he moves kitty to the right and settles his head against my loungewear-clad left thigh with a drowsy sigh.
Upon seeing his eyes close and his body relax, I go back to reading Nancy Mitford’s take on Voltaire, while he drifts toward sleep.
But when his breathing changes, it is not to the shallow intakes and even exhalations of slumber I expect to hear; rather, my auditory attention is captured by what sounds like a series of deep inhalations followed by long-held breaths slowly released.