I realize how much time has passed while I'm sitting on the floor in the kitchen, surrounded by paint cans and dirty brushes, more paint on my legs then the wall. I send you a picture of the mess and ask if your day is messy to. I laugh out loud, realizing I still share every thought that enters my head.
It was 2:25 in the morning, the first time you picked up a paint brush for me. I starred up at you through tired, half blurry eyes. The belt of robe trailed behind me but I held the back of your leg, like I was the stable part of this trapeze act. You stood on a step stool rested over the toilet, half of your body leaning on rickety wire shelving- the perfect Thursday night.
We're young and in love, even if we're a little old now. That's my favorite part though. I remember that night every time I come with a can of paint or surprise you with a new bedroom wall color. My favorite as of late has been that green though. The original.
I smile to myself while I type that very thought to you.
A few minutes later, you tell me to get back to painting because you want to see a Summer Rain kitchen ready for fall when you get home.
|Middle of the night green, circa winter 2012|