A bed without a bride is like a sunset all alone. Warm, cocooned, serene, but the missing robs its complete. Searching for the next best thing I swoon two little Chinese bundles of limp into my arms, already aloft in another world. Gently I place them onto the cold mattress. No matter, their place supersedes this place. Wrapping them with knitted cotton nearby, I hope to enhance this place that that place might not be disturbed. Standing over them the muscles in my face twitch to raise the corners of my lips, but no one can see. Now gingerly wiggling myself under those heavy blankets, I snuggle the littlest one. Body warmth warms mine. My hands touch the bottoms of little feet - my favorite part. Silently thankful, I sink into the place they are, missing her as my own sun sets.
A third of a day passes as if it were a second. The cushions now perfectly acclimatized, all three leave and begin to come back. Limbs move, bumping into the others. It's light now. The fluffy feline pushes his pads into my chest, the sound of his nails pulling the coverings off. Snickering from the girls pulsates my ears, and now the new day dawns. Still without bride. Still with them.
Writing here, while others with still closed eyes, the two skip into the room. "Daddy, please come look now!" Hesitant, but also eager, I walk behind them. "Close your eyes." "Now open." There was that place we shared last night. All made up, their own best way, almost like mine. Lumpy, wrinkly, disheveled, but a proud sacrifice to bring me joy. Hugs, kisses, thank yous. An impulse comes over me to straighten it out. Catching myself I restrain. It's perfect, just the way it is.
Keeping my eyes now open for more perfection today. Don't think I'll fix a thing,
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