Yesterday's carnelian mittens and rose cheeks gave way to silver and gold notes from a lengthy before-dinner guitar lesson and then slid easily into blue and lavender dreams, restless sleeps for kids with colds (again).
Last night brought a new song and a new revelation, for if Cole was the keeper of the Zeppelin catalogue, Ben is the finder of their lost tracks, multiple takes and rare alternative versions, painstakingly seeking out every last recording the band has ever made. When he took me to bed somewhere around nine, early because I am trying to sleep enough instead of hardly at all, it was to the strains of a new and wonderful but old familiar song I knew well that I lay in Ben's arms while we did things that are new and different and so very right for us. Perfect for us.
The song was In the Light. Only this version is called In the Morning and I made a note inside my head to ask him about the song today, as I tried not to cry out as he easily found that one amazing place between not enough and too much.
Somewhere around midnight we fell asleep to the strains of The Rain Song, and it occurred to me that not only do I not feel homesick when I'm with Ben, but I also don't feel frustrated by him, I'm not trying to force him to do things he shouldn't, nor am I trying to get him to stop doing things I don't want him to do. Sleeping with him is a perfect match of skill and experimentation, of want and energy, of just the right level of perversity and gentleness. We match. Uncannily so.
Which leaves me kind of speechless, actually.
Though the winds of change
may blow around you,
but that will always be so
When love is pain it can devour you,
but you are never alone
I would share your load.
I would share your load
Baby, let me
In the light
Everybody needs the light.
