Lovesick rambles...

I’m a lovesick little fool. I’ve seen her every single day for a week, slept next to her night after night, and it was LOVELY.

She texts me and says “I miss having your body next to mine.” She says “I’ve never been so lovesick in my life.” My heart flutters when my tough as nails girl says such soft things. I know exactly what she means though, missing her like the French say it, “tu me manques,” you are missing from me.

She’s at work, long shifts all week, I’m back at my usual grind. Life goes on and she’ll be next to me again. In the mean time I write her love notes and poems, send her pictures of my body and the parts she misses most, whisper all of the things I want to say to her face while we’re on the phone. I smile with her voice in my ear.

I’m in love with who she is, her values and her face and her dirty mechanic aesthetic. I’m in love with her vision, with her outlook on life. She’s not afraid of a little hard work, she shows up ready to roll up her sleeves, but she’ll put down her work gloves to wrap her arms around me any time I need it.

When the kids and I were at her place this week she suggested we have a bonfire, she’d saved all the wood from a tree that had been cut down. She hadn’t used her fire pit since her ex lived there. We worked together to pull out the over-grown vines. We tore at weeds that grew between the stones, roots and all. I started a formidable fire and she started up the chainsaw to make quick work of the tree trunk. I stared at her from across the yard.

Chainsaws always scared me. They’re loud and dangerous and finicky. Being around them makes me nervous, but she looked so hot getting the motor going, cutting into the trunk, sending wood chips flying everywhere. I objectified her while she worked, until she shut the saw off and looked my way, catching my gaze. “You wanna try?” She asked, taking a long pull from her vape, I shook my head quickly.

“Come on my brave bunny, you can do it, I’ll hold your hand,” she smiled. I gave her a hundred good reasons why there was no chance in hell I would try, and before you knew it there I was, holding the chainsaw in my clenched hands while she showed me how the safety worked. She put her hand over mine to hold me steady as it started up, I squealed but I did it. I cut one of the trunk sections with a fucking chainsaw. She was right beside me the whole time. I felt drunk on smell of sawdust and the fire and her smoky cologne.

“Look at you,” she teased. “Wearing my flannel, workin’ a chain saw, I’m going to turn you into a good little lesbian yet.” My lumberjack heart thumped hard as I kissed her cheeks, pink from the crisp fall air and from loving me.