I like the little lists she makes,
It is her art.
Her vice.
Sometimes a crutch.
A new day brings a new list.
One recently had the power to be framed.
It told of little items that needed purchasing.
So useless to anyone but her.
Written in her own code.
A shorthand I had learned to decipher.
And inscribed at the end of the the little post-it,
Was one little line.
It read: 'Mitchum Roll on - for me'
I smiled.
And I realised I loved this woman.
Without reasoning.
Without sanity.
Despite the financial ruin.
Despite heavy rows.
Despite complete lack of understanding.
Despite frustration.
Despite her compulsive behavior.
She pushes me,
In directions I do not want to go.
She forces me to break new barriers.
I should hate her.
She destroys my comfort,
drives me to act,
Improve,
Strive.
Am I better?
I don't think so.
Maybe she does.
Challenges are never meant to be easy.
That's what the old ones taught us.
Times come when it seems lost.
But it is fleeting, carried away by the wings of sanity.
A new day dissolves the madness,
And I forget for a moment.
She has my heart.
For now.
Maybe not eternity.
But it's a possibility.
