“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”
~ Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
I was such a good girl, growing up. I never snuck out of the house. I never lied to my parents about where I was going.
Now I’m married though, that’s all changed.
In the middle of my retreat – that’s right, the one I am running – I am sneaking out.
I’ve been calling my husband twice a day, even though our farm is barely ten minutes up the road, and we are only apart for five days. I just want to hear his voice. To find about his day. To say good morning or good night.
Yesterday, like teenagers, we planned a secret tryst.
This morning, very early, my husband will call past the front door of the place where my retreat is being hosted. He’ll be in the farm ute, with Harry Dog chained in the back. I’ll meet him out on the road, and jump in beside him. We’ll hold hands driving into Byron Bay, enjoy a walk, and an early breakfast, and then he’ll whisk me back to the retreat before anyone even notices I have gone.
I feel like a schoolgirl, all sweetly excited and quietly thrilled.
Ain’t love grand!