My Heart is Fit to Match.

This morning I am wearing make-up and a really pretty sweater. My coffee is almost gone; I’m just reaching the bottom of the mug where the cream has settled, making the last swallow extra sweet. After writing that sentence, my mouth was watering for it, and now my coffee is gone.

November air is coming in my window, and the sky is a bright morning blue; the kind of blue created solely for the hour of six am in the fall, it’s crisp and sharp and light. My couch is welcoming, and my usual seat marked out in warmth from where I rested before rising to retrieve my computer. There’s a lamp on in the corner, giving enough light to read by, but not enough to detract from the light of the coming sun.

My mug is full again, and my heart is fit to match.

I straightened my hair not too many moments ago and checked facebook, too. I’ve pulled my Steve Madden’s on over my cocoa brown tights. I like the way they click when I walk on tile. My nails are painted with Midnight in Moscow and look sheik with my turquoise ring on my right hand. Simply put, I feel pretty today.

And beneath all this, if I reach underneath the layers of foundation and cotton ruffles and purple polish, there’s a longing. There’s something crying out in my spirit, “know me”. There’s a small internal voice that is whimpering to be known. I do not want to just be seen. I do not want to just be recognized. I do not want to just be acknowledged. I want to be known. More than my made-up face and primly dressed façade, but the deep current of who I am.

And here on this couch, with You, I am.

Always.

Every morning that color fills the sky, every time I settle into this familiar seat, every time I take that last gulp of espresso blend coffee, I am known by You.