Sometimes in a moment when I think
I'm gonna go completely crazy--
Not the good kind, the horrid kind--
When it feels like there's nothing in my soul but dirty dishes
and puppy puddles on the floor
and phone calls I hate making
And I stand before the stupid heater
And wish it could ease the ache in my back
I look up and see your eyes
And for some reason
I get a silly little memory from college,
of Russ, ten years older than I, scribbling away gently on his paper
red head and beard tousled.
"What are you writing?"
Just being nosy.
"A love letter to my wife--"
So open, looking up to meet my eyes.
And me, awkward, nervous laugh,
Embarrassed because I asked,
Because he told.
"Read it. Here."
And the notebook turned around, black words on a white page,
Standing naked and unashamed before me.
And I read it.
And somehow, today, life is not so bad,
Because a man wrote a love letter to his wife.