you wake up before the sunrise.

before the sun peeks over the mountains for the first time today, before rays (yellow in the summer, gray in winter) strike the ground below, illuminating (rippling, green grass in the summer and sparkling beds of snow in the winter). you wake up before the sky warms, before it fills with pinks and oranges and the birds sing in full force in the cottonwood trees by the river.

the first thing you do every morning is kiss me on my forehead while i sleep. i know you do, sometimes i’ll pretend to sleep and others i won’t wake up at all. you kiss me whether i know it or not.

it’s difficult for you to get out of bed, one because we’re so intertwined when we sleep you have to untangle yourself from my mess of limbs that are wrapped around you, and two because you’re a rancher who’s in love, and neither love nor ranching is ever easy.

but both are worth it.

i don’t sleep quite as well in that hour when you’re gone, moving waterlines and riding your atv with sza at full volume. but when you climb those stairs of our house again, when you slip under the comforter we chose together, when your skin touches mine again and i feel all the warmth in the world it’s worth it.

our mornings are like the sunrise, soft, loving, and hopeful. we wake up together (not counting your 4, 5am excursions) and kiss like we’ve never kissed before. an oak bedside table on each side of the bed, wildflowers you’ve picked for me in crystal vases sitting atop each one.

purple flowers, always.

a joint or two alongside notes we’ve written each other rest together in our drawers. pictures of us, pictures of the ranch, pictures of your cows hang from the walls. a wine glass (or two) with a bit of residual pinot noir sit atop the dresser we share.

we leave the door open always, even when we sleep, so the corgi can come and go. besides, we’re the only ones that live here, in this house of ours, and i don’t think either one of us have felt safer than we do in the arms of the other.

in the mornings you make me a cup of coffee while i sit out on the porch, on a wooden swing big enough for two draped in blankets. i sit there, pen and notebook in hand, and watch the sun climb, the sky brighten, the day begin. you bring me my steaming cup, (black) and i close the notebook for a second. we sit in silence, rocking, holding one another. you’ll kiss my arm, i’ll kiss your head, and nothing will need to be said.

you’ll leave me again to get dressed, a rapper t-shirt and one of your 40 pairs of jeans, of course. you’ll throw on the cologne i love. you’ll leave me a note in the kitchen

“you’re mine”

“god, i love you”

“thank you, baby.”

and you’re out for the day.

evenings we spend together, of course. our nights are so full, so overflowing, so deep and complete and perfect. sunset drives on dirt roads. picnics by the roaring river. walks through fields, rides on your atv, trips into town for ice cream or shitty to-go food.

above all, our life is simple.

we write, we speak, we cuddle, we love. we share everything and thank god, because everything that’s ever been mine i want to be yours, too.

you are the reason. you’re the goal. you’re what i’ve written about, you’re what i’ve been seeking, you are the home i never thought i’d find. here’s to a home full of music. here’s to a life brimming with love. here’s to you,

and i,

together

simply and entirely.