Words and tough...

I am words, and you are touch. We realized that the other night as we were talking. I was telling you about the sadness of my mother's impending passing, and a familiar look crossed your face. It was the frustration of trying to find the right words in a language that, while you are fluent, is not your native tongue, only, in this case, it wasn't Swedish to English. It was the ache of not being able to touch me, hold me, kiss my pain away, because that is truly your first language with me, and you are a master of it.

You always seem to know just how to touch me, just the sort of physical intimacy I need. From the first time you held my hand the right way, to when we make love, to when you sit as close to me as possible, because you can't bear even the smallest distance between us, you compose beautiful sonnets to the love you feel for me. I know you wish you had more words, at times, but, my sweet girl, please know that there will come a time in the not so distant future when you will be able to speak your language freely and, until then, know that I have never once felt unloved nor unsupported. I feel the love in your eyes, clear and true. I love you, my sweet girl, now and always.