I am obsessed with wordlessness, the gesture, the sound, the image. I am obsessed with silencing myself, with erasure.
She dances before me, she never dances. She thinks herself too awkward, but there she is dancing. She crosses the room, suddenly, kneels down, kisses me. I ask her, why? Because I’ve been dancing without a partner but you’re here now. You’re here.
I am obsessed with recovery. Words have lead me into and out of trouble. Words have lead me here, with two children, a house bigger than what we need, and a wife from whom I have much more to learn from than I ever imagined.