Little Nothings

Almost every single day Manly and I will be talking - about nothingness. Just the run of words that comes from living under the same roof for a very long time. He'll say something silly, and I'll come back with a comment, and it'll go on for awhile. It's the kind of talk that I think goes on in most kitchens, or when we're lying there in the dark with the covers pulled up under our chins, across the world, on any given night, and even if the circumstances look a bit different, and the languages would sound odd to me, the conversation is still the same.

At the time we're dancing back and forth over some silly something, I'll think - 'I have to remember this moment'. Then the next minute, or hour, or morning it's completely gone, and I can't remember what we were even talking about, let alone a single line of what we said, even though at the time it was wildly amusing to me, or Manly.

I can't usually recall what we said, or what it was about, but that comfort lingers - knowing your words are safe with another certain person, that they'll laugh at your silly jokes, banter back and forth with you, and you'll feel safe with each other, safe enough to just be yourself.

Those who have this going on under roofs, or covers, at night know what I'm talking about - and are thankful for it too. Better than an expensive dinner out in dress up clothes, better than cruises and exotic trips, or romantic picnics spread on a blanket by the lake, better than all those things we say we're going to do and never get to, knowing for however long God gives us, he'll say silly things and I'll laugh and bounce back with something so he knows I get it, and it's not even so much what we're saying, but what we're not, what we don't need to, that fills us up for another day.