other half

It sometimes seems strange that I should find the other half of my heart as my life journeys toward its halfway mark. That I should see my body freshly through his eyes, and accept that my perfect imperfections require no disguise.
Everything once set in stone, exploded like a flock of birds at his lightest touch. Yet now nothing I could ask would be to ask too much. And so I am lost in a flood of gratitude, that I should know this while I live. That, for this life, he can be mine, and I be his.


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