His pledge to her:
i will kill the spiders. i will share my fries with you when you’ve finished all yours and are still hungry. i won’t ever pop my collar. i will never be rude to your tummy- when i hear it growl and gurgle. i promise to bend down and reply respectfully. i will eat the mushrooms when we order the supreme pizza. i will kiss the papercuts. and the door-slammed finger, and the counter-bumped hip. i’ll try my hardest not to get annoyed when you whisper questions and comments during movies. i will be the big spoon. i will let you win at wrestling, sometimes. other times i will not. i will go faster. harder. i will pull when you want. and tease you when you don’t. i will send you random texts and leave you silly gifts. not always. not on schedule. just whenever i want to. whenever i think you need one. or seven. i will check your tire pressure. and remind you to take your car in. i will hold your hand. i will love you. i will love you. i will love you.
Gloomy weather means Gloomy song.
"It terrifies you, doesn’t it? It scares the living shit out of you to love someone like her. Someone who is so much of a storm. Some days she’s stronger than you. Most days her voice is louder. She’ll say “no” once and mean it. If you don’t listen she’ll kick you out of her bed and out of her life. Maybe she’ll soften for you, between the quiet hours where the sun is just barely touching the earth, she’ll be all quiet breathing skin and open mouthed caresses. Maybe once in a while she’ll gentle herself into elastic and you’ll press open mouthed kisses to her skin without worrying about the burn. Stop living for those moments where she’s quieter. They’ll be rare. The thing is, most of the time, she’ll be on fire. You’ll have to carry the ashes of your arguments back with you, you’ll have to expect that she’ll fight you and love you at the same time. It’ll feel like loving a hurricane. So maybe, maybe you’re thinking that it’ll be easier if you just left. Maybe you’ll find a better one. Know this: if she asks you to stay, she will do it once. If you slam the door shut behind you she will shrug her shoulders, wrap herself in her own fight and wait for someone strong enough to love her. If you come back, months later, empty handed, she’ll kiss your forehead and shake her head and say ‘not today.’" - Azra.T
Here’s to the security guards who maybe had a degree in another land. Here’s to the manicurist who had to leave her family to come here, painting the nails, scrubbing the feet of strangers. Here’s to the janitors who don’t even fucking understand English yet work hard despite it all. Here’s to the fast food workers who work hard to see their family smile. Here’s to the laundry man at the Marriott who told me with the sparkle in his eyes how he was an engineer in Peru. Here’s to the bus driver, the Turkish Sufi who almost danced when I quoted Rumi. Here’s to the harvesters who live in fear of being deported for coming here to open the road for their future generation. Here’s to the taxi drivers from Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt and India who gossip amongst themselves. Here is to them waking up at 4am, calling home to hear the voices of their loved ones. Here is to their children, to the children who despite it all become artists, writers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, activists and rebels. Here’s to Western Union and Money Gram. For never forgetting home. Here’s to their children who carry the heartbeats of their motherland and even in sleep, speak with pride about their fathers. Keep on.