Me again: > "You're almost home! Look for the tiny church that put up that huge rock wall after someone slammed into them in the fog?" Fog is a common bond out here.
Simone: > "I see that!"
Me: > "Come on home."
Stimulus: Our garage door goes up; it's the best-car's door, the car Sim One operates today. Response: I clatter downstairs from my office; from THIS very leaf of writing today you're right now reading; with each footfall, dismissing a bit, a lot, enough.
We, Sim One and me: > Hug. > 2nd, deeper hug. > Full, unrestrained, 3rd to infinity hug. Adequate seeping/weeping occurs: both, given the moment.
whisper to us both: You're home.
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It's our motto now.
Home is us.
Not our zip/postal code...
Not our other loved, fawned-over house in France (where we YEARN to return, post-pandemic; for family ties, for village ties, for honest bread)...
Right now?
Just us. Home is us.
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Has to be; given our 70-something age and this pandemic.
Our families. Our connections. Our causes.
Us is growing love. Growing patience. Tolerance. Appreciation.
In sickness and in health; honoring those vows: second time for us both, Simone and Tom.
In love as much as we can be, given the emotional stupidity too-comfortable couples are capable of talking themselves into.