It exists, this love between us, in the seconds you pause before you reply to me. It tells me you give weight to my words, consider them as you answer. It exists, in the lift of your head, as you raise your eyes to meet mine, in the middle of chaos before the school bus trundles down our street. It exists, in the silence that stretches between the rooms, as you create the space for me to be creative. It exists, in the weight of the child that lies on your shoulders, as you share the child rearing with me.
It exists, in the steady chop of the knife as it makes music with the hiss and steam from the kitchen. It exists, in the split second before you take a picture, when a smile curves on your face. It exists, in the moment your eyes travel up and down our children scanning for aberrations before you pronounce them perfect. It exists, in the appraising eye as you look at my saree and the pendant on my neck and pronounce them incompatible.
It exists, in the conversations you hold in the morning, a monologue that seems endless. It exists, in the crossed out items on the to-do list as you walk the aisles of the grocery store. It exists, in the tub of sorbet that arrives unannounced at the end of the week. It exists, in the cramped sleeping form of yours as one child sleeps on your lap and the other on your shoulder. It exists, in the line items on our bank statement as you pay bills without question. It exists, in the spaces between us, the pockets that need no language, in the hum of the air before speech, in the understanding that transcends words.
It is. It exists.