Courage and life

As he sleeps, precise and small, you can't picture the force of life he exudes while awake. And when he's loud, contorting his face and debating the relative ferocity of a zombie or a raptor apocalypse, you would never imagine his stillness / assurance / mindfulness / perseverance / stature / wholeness. His complexity permits my own – draws it out the way no one ever did before he waved at me on a university sidewalk, took me into the country to shoot guns and run around outside, and introduced me to his greatest loves. He was a tiger in a cage then. You could feel the tension in his pacing and hear the change in his laugh when he was set free.

I live out my days this way, watching him sleep in our studio apartment that he picked because it had character, wondering how he holds back the life that threatens to burst out of every pore. I pray for more reckless, pure passion that ferociously beats against our walls – swoops in and captures us. And we wake every morning to give more of ourselves, and, in turn, receive the reward of watching abundant life swallow everything that has to die to loose the freedom we were made for.