she painted my nails and i cried.

i cried and smiled and tried not to let my hands shake.

she painted my nails and i cried tears that told of connecting through laughter, through long talks, through silent moments, through touches and kisses and nights spent holding her.

she painted my nails and my tears spoke volumes, heard the story of her history slowly take shape, shared lessons we'd learned on our way to that moment face to face, our knees touching just a little.

she took my fingers in her hand and painted my nails, skillfully spreading the liquid over them, looking up at me through her smile and she let me cry because she understood.

she painted my fingernails and my emotions swelled like a tidal wave, pouring out of my eyes and over my cheeks. i found a stick and carved her name into the sand, took a photograph of that moment for my heart to hold onto.

she painted my fingernails and i cried because i knew i was falling, but it felt like spreading my wings. it felt like landing in a blanket of clouds. it felt like her arms wrapped around me. it felt like home.

August 21. 2001