Another love letter to my husband

Dear Michael,

Love can be a poison, a shroud of gray. It can rip through a soul and tear at the fabric of one's peace. Do you remember our walk one morning early, the sun already up and rising, bright and yellow, the sky so blue it could hurt your eyes, everything that day sharp and crisp and perfect.

Every day cannot be like that one. Sometimes the day is just as perfect, and we have a memory, and suddenly a gray cloud seeps into us, and we no longer see the clear blue sky, the bright yellow sun, the sharp crispness of a perfect day.

We want to be safe and we want to know we're safe. We want to be loved and we want to feel loved. We want to feel alive and we want to know what living truly is.

Thank you for your suggestions on where I can find a piece of sunshine in the house. The vacant room on the second floor with the great big windows seems like a good fit. I will try it. Thank you for your prayer that I may find my creative self and do creative things. And though you don't always listen, thank you for listening.

Deborah