This just sorta popped into my head while listening to 'Garbage'. Okay, so I have weird sources of wonderful inspirations. I love that when it happens.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Most of them belong to the wonderful Mr. Sorkin.
Notes: This is a Hoynes story. Now, I know there may not be that many Hoynes fans. But hey, he can be cool.
He must have just gotten back from talking to the President. I try to shurg it off and go back to my reading, but something makes me follow him.
I love the man too much not to wonder what is the matter. He has aged in last few years. Something that has bothered me. I hide by the wall, watching him undress and walk into the bathroom.
Worry. That's what I do. Worry. Day after day. I worry what's wrong with my husband that made him so bitter all of a sudden. And then I remember that it was the Presidential race that made him that way.
Leaning my back against the wall, I wonder if I should go in there. But I can't. Something holds me back. I pray for some sort of courage. It's too hard though. It would be useless. I'd go in there and then choke up.
My son must have just come in, for I hear soft murmurs from the downstairs. That doesn't make me move from the spot that I'm at. Actually, I walk into our room and sit on the bed, taking his shirt in my hands and bringing it to my nose.
Old Spice. I have to smile. I haven't done something like this since I was pregnant. The smell of his cologne would calm my nerves or stomach.
He walks out and stares oddly at me, sitting there, smelling his shirt. A small smile spreads across his face. Sitting next to me, he takes one of my hands and kisses my palm. I love it when he does that.
Then he stands and goes to his closet. Picking out khakis and a white shirt, he slowly puts them on as if in pain. Maybe he is. An invisible pain that hurts only on certain days.
I wish he would share these things with me. But I know that he can't. They're to personal to share with another person.
Standing, I walk to him and wrap my arms around his stomach. Resting my head on his back, I close my eyes and breathe in slowly. He smells soapy clean.
He turns then and kisses the top of my head. I look up into his eyes and give him a smile. Standing on tip-toes, I kiss his mouth, lingering there for a moment.
Resting his chin on my head lightly, closing his eyes.
I love this man, my husband. And I'll stand by him through thick and thin.
Well, what did you think? Did you like? Oh, please do tell. My muse would doubly appreciate it.