I spent the day painting a bathroom. With each stroke and dip of brush into the can thoughts of you covered me, leaving me white-washed in love.

Thoughts of you never leave me and it is during times like now, when I’ve stopped everything to really look at my thoughts and maybe find a way to organize them into a strand of words, I recognize the wonder of the human brain and how it is I can seem to be in a constant stream of thought of you and yet accomplish so many things, like getting a bathroom painted or the pets fed or the gas tank filled or the bills paid or a salad made or edit a book report for a book I’ve never read or shave my legs or sing along to Jonathan Edwards or vacuum the dead flies out of the window sill again or listen to the wind or hear the world’s arguments repeat over and over and over until I realize the other 90 percent of my brain has an awfully small ego not to want to force itself on the other 10 percent more often than it does, but it’s because that 10 percent is so thickly concentrated, like the creamy paint in that brush, with gratitude for you, it would be silly to think ego could rinse you out of my head.

There is no rinsing you away, brushing you away, no walking away from you.

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