Things I always think but never tell anyone about my wife

…because it’s none of your business, is why. But she got upset I didn’t praise her here, so try this on for size:

Her eyes are pure brown. When the sun shines through sideways and into them, the beauty of it could take my breath away. When she looks at me, they are full of love. But she can’t look at me for long; I guess I’m hard to look at. She says I’m handsome but she can’t sometimes…and I want to just stare and stare, especially when the light is just-so.

The skin of her face is textured. She has these fine little hairs you can’t see but if you have the immense privilege of touching her, you will feel that it is different to touch than it looks. Sometimes I run my hand over it, savoring that feeling, and that she lets me near.

It’s wonderful to feel her hair no matter what she does, if it’s bedtime in the morning it’s charming. if she pulls it up I like it. If she leaves it down I like it. If her curls are tight or loose or frizzy I like it. It smells like her. Sometimes it smells like her hair products and sometimes it smells like outside, but it always smells like her. When I hold her tight in the night, it goes all up my nose and it’s okay because it’s her. It’s so soft, when I kiss it. She likes me to run my fingers through it when she feels like it’s extra soft. Sometimes I find hairs in my laundry and I like the reminder of her even if it’s an annoying something rubbing me until I figure out what’s loose in my shirt or whatever.

Her face is pretty in profile

Her face is pretty straight on

For a few days more than a year now, my favorite picture has been my computer’s desktop background: her face, grinning at me from the computer screen. She has the cutest little nose, and her cheeks stand proud. When we are in . . . a certain position and she looks down at me, or I look down at her, the beauty of it is so lovely, it almost hurts.

Her lips, when she is not happy to kiss me, they go hard. But when she loves me, they are soft. The little ridge on the front, I play with it. Sometimes I have to remind myself not to bite too hard. Sometimes, she bites my lip too hard also but I don’t mind. The passion behind it more than makes up for a little sore lip for a few minutes (or days)

I think she doesn’t like her eyebrows but they are hers and they look nice actually. They go well with the shape of her face.

Her neck is exactly the right height for me to kiss on and it has a certain effect on her when I do that. Sometimes, I do it just because it is pure joy to have her feel that way in reaction to my love. When her hair is up, it is like an invitation, beckoning me to

Her bosom is soft unless it is confined. Sometimes when she lets me touch my mind just goes blank. She has such curves, y’all.This is the body of a real woman! To run my hands down her side, they move a LOT to follow the shapely shape!

She somewhat dislikes her belly, but it tells me she loves me. All her peers are fat and/or frumpy, but she keeps herself smaller to keep me happy looking at her. Lying in bed at night, I run my hand along the swell of her hip and thigh (she has such curves!) and then she lets me hold her until we sleep. …or until someone kicks, or has to pee… I love our routine. It is our shared experience we do almost every day.

I even like her bad foot. The good foot is very nice to look at and sometimes I … nevermind what I do. But the bad foot shows me she is still vulnerable. She is so strong and brave, sometimes it’s like she doesn’t need me at all, but . . .

…and when she puts on tight jeans, great God what a view!

All of this, always always I know it. This all is a part of me. It’s so personal I can’t share it easily. But here is this little essay in praise of the most attractive woman in the world* because I think she would like to see it.


*to me. There is nobody else I want to see but her. I’m in love, can you tell?

She’s in my bones. She’s part of me.

I already knew I love my wife more than anyone. Adam said Eve was “now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh”. I felt it. While making love with the woman I love, I realized, the line between me and other blurred and we were one thing. It was an amazing spiritual connection. Flesh of my flesh, I can dig it. I get it. “God hath joined together” I felt it already.

But . . . bone of my bone? I guessed he was talking about how she was created. But now, I think maybe, he was talking about something else. I have been spending a lot of time, lately, thinking about my lover. I realized one time, when I was thinking about what life would be like without her –

that it felt like my very bones were being ripped apart! –

I can’t explain it but I felt it. For sure. She’s in my bones, y’all. The woman is a part of me and I didn’t realize how much so, until just now. God, what a thing, what a circumstance!

I’m sorry for your cat, baby.

That was the sweetest cat I ever knew. She may have had potty issues but other than that, she really was the best. I’m sorry I’m not there for you. I’m here, though. You know how to get a hold of me, if you want me.

You know I love you and I’ll be prayin’ extra prayers for you just now. I already did. Good thing my desk is in a hole or people would see me crying for your hurting right now. Everybody has sniffles in central Texas though. I told my manager I might have to dip out and be with family but . . . well . . .

Incarcerated, Me?

Yes, me. Here I sit in the County Reformatory* at the old Red Ranch as I have begun to serve a sentence of unknown duration, until the Authorities agree I’ve got my mind right. The first meeting with a counselor starts in just under an hour as I write this and I don’t know how many doctors I’m going to need.

They don’t let you see your victim or your family here, including specifically my wife which is

***to be perfectly clear***

the hardest thing. Everything else that ever befell in my entire life that led me to be kindof a hard man, combined, was not as hard as the blow I gave myself last week. Like the song says,

“I can’t go with you and stay where I am”

If there is any hope of restoration of what I broke, I have to change. I know that, now. There’s things from long ago that I need to deal with. I shoved it all down deep inside and built up around it, but it was still there, and now I stepped in it and it stinks.

Next time you see me, you won’t recognize what you knew was wrong, because i’ll be better. I’m taking big steps already, believe it or not. I had already moved past the worst of the worst, mentally, and I was dragging my feet. #1 kept telling me “YOU need therapy!” and I told her “nah, I’m good.” Well bby u were correct and I was wrong on that. I’m gettin’ it.

I have to improve or there’s no chance of getting back into what I am missing out on right now. You may have heard of my hatred of paperwork. I actually sought it out today, so I could figure out how my insurance is going to play into paying for this mess. They make you pay if you talk to actual doctors. I told my dad everything, and his DW almost everything and he probably filled her in on the gaps. I told my new minister everything too. God already knew but he had to step on me a bit for me to own up; but He doesn’t give up. I wish I could tell one more person how far I’ve already come but that looks impossible right now.


*I’m not actually locked up, y’all. It only feels like it.

-Prison: A place for the confinement and punishment of persons convicted of crimes, especially felonies.
-Reformatory: A penal institution for the discipline, reformation, and training of … offenders