100 Words on Love, by William Dameron
“Hello Sweetie, it’s just me.” This is what he says at the beginning of every voicemail for me, always in that same sing-song lilt. The first part is fine. It’s the second part I take issue with.
It’s just a million dollars.
It’s just a Renoir.
But that’s him, always underestimating what his existence means to me.
The foolish moon casts horizontal shadows across our bed as I kiss his face.
“You are not ‘just me,’” I whisper.
“But, that is who I am,” he replies.
No, you are everything, I think.
But maybe that’s just me.
More love, in 100 Words
Photo courtesy of the author