Little Notes

I've been married to Abby for nineteen years. Long time. Love her more each day. Though, there are times when I remember that if I'd killed her the day I met her, I'd probably be out by now.

We have good times and bad times though more good than bad. We put effort into getting along and being happy and I don't mind saying we have a damn good sex life after all these years. We are lucky, we are fortunate; in a word we are blessed.

It's not easy, but it's not hard. We do the little things. We sometimes write each other little notes. Sometimes on paper, sometimes by text. We listen to one another. We make time for each other. We support each other.

Why do you care about this? I don't know. I don't care if you care about this. I do. It's good to have some stability. She is my rock. She gives me space to be myself and listens to me bitch and moan when being myself becomes too much to bear. I'd like to think I do the same for her.

I'll admit I have the easier end of the bargain. She's an intelligent, normal, stable person. I'm a writer. I'm manic-depressive. I'm temperamental. I'm an idiot.

So this post is a little note to my wife. The woman who took everything from me except my name, and gave me so much more than I could have reasonably expected and more than I could ever deserve.






Adolfo Jimenez is a writer living against his will in Hollywood, Florida.  His latest release is Scenes from a 1979 Ford Fairmont, a short book of poems. Get it on Amazon!

Check him out here!