We spend most of our lives apart. We live our days out going to work or sorting chores or household tasks at the weekend. We see separate friends separately. We cook and eat at a hundred and ten miles distance. I don’t help him to reach a difficult place to soap His back in the shower. He doesn’t hold a coat open for me to put on a coat with ease. Our kisses are infrequent, our hugs can be counted on the fingers of no hands most weeks, we rarely sleep with limbs entwined and yet I count this as my most intimate relationship ever.
This wasn’t planned. Our love crept up on us and surprised us both. It grew because of our ability to be intimate with each other, the buds emerged in a storm of difficulty, they have blossomed in our decision to risk bringing it from the dark of a hotel room into the light of day in a field. In the setting up of a camp separate from both of our homes we found we had a team that could brave the worst of the weather with a smile, could dance as we cooked together, and could sit by candlelight under the stars as the moon rose over us both.
This moon, photographed by me as it rose over the hills that surround my small country town and by Him between the office blocks of the City reminds us of our shared intimacy.
We are connected as we go about the ending of our day separate but together under the same moon.
[picture credit @_Masterseye and @DomwithaDee]