Redeem: 28

I'm eating my dinner, a delicious lentil soup.

It's reminding me of that day we took down streams of wallpaper,
and you made soup that was a lot like this and I
--in a flurry of anticipation--took half your bread.
You looked at me and you laughed at me. Delightedly.

Which is reminding me of that day
we moved you into all of that wallpaper,
and I stood in your old bedroom window
and stuck my head through to call to you.
You looked at me with such surprise,
and then you laughed. At me. With delight, yes.

Which is reminding me of other types of moments, somehow; 

the moments that were harder, the difficult words
and the edges in our voices.

You looked at me and I looked right back, 

but in no way did we laugh. 

Still, didn't it feel just a bit delightful?  

I was always surprised at how safe it seemed. 

Maybe it's the delight in what it is to know another, 

in all layers, all possible ways.

So.  Let's keep layering, hey?

There's a heck of a lot more delight to be had.

[redeem, verb: to free from what distresses or harms; to release from blame or debt; to regain possession or recover ownership; 

to convert, restore, atone; to save]