We're making our own kind of normal...even there is nothing normal about it. (We grow and change, in spite of our efforts not to...)
I'm spending another weekend with The Boy in the house.
And while I'm walking on cloud nine, there are certain rules I apparently have to follow.
I am not allowed to look at him.
I'm not allowed to talk to him.
I can't hug him.
I can't kiss him.
I can't tell him I love him.
I can't ask him who he is talking to.
I can't ask him who he is texting.
I can't tell him he looks handsome.
I can't ask him if he needs a ride because he is NOT a pussy.
I can't tell him to text me and tell me where he is after the football game because he is NOT a pussy.
I can't invite the friends INSIDE the house that are hanging out in the yard tossing the football around with The Boy.
However, I can watch him through the window.
I watch him as he laughs and shouts and enjoys the cool spring afternoon with friends. I watch him and see a young man that I've missed more than life itself.
My heart has begun to heal. And I will not think of days passed, of words spoken in anger, or broken hearts or of people caught in the crossfire.
Because I can see my heart through the window. And it is beautiful.