Is it true?!

How do you know they are the one? Is it the countless kisses that are placed on your forehead, the way butterflies dance in your heart and toes and stomach all at the same time? The way you want to be with the person all the time and even when they are laying next to you they still feel to far away.

Is it the small things like the toothbrush that is sitting next to yours, or the shower wash or the way they like cold water instead of room temperature. The way he sleeps his hand on his chest, the way the sun hits his tattoos in the morning and the way he has to have one foot outside of the sheets. The way he doesn't pay attention to your favorite movie because he is watching you in excitement of watching the favorite scene for the fifth time.

Or is it the big things. The waiting until its the right moment. The way he believes family is his soul and  trust is the most important thing. The one that wants you to chase your dreams and will wait for you no matter how long it takes because you are worth the wait.

Or the in-betweens, where compromise happens and he knows your stubborn as a horse so he lets you win and lets you go to bed like a raging bitch and when he smiles that crooked smile you know that he has got you hooked.

I am not sure when you know when the person is the one. The one worth fighting for and the one you can't wait to love for the rest of your life. I hope when the one does come around that there wont be any question, but that the one question that will be answered if he is or not is simply, "Yes."

he whispers in my ear, like the waves from the ocean that kisses the beach, moving slowly and then pulling back to the sea, he lays down on the white comforter, as I lay my head down.

he pulls me in, like you pull a sleeping bag to your chin as the shivery breeze caresses your forehead, warm under the silky material that engulfs your legs, creating goosebumps from the two different temperatures.

he sweeps my hair out of my eyes, the worker hands that are rough against my skin that glides so easily and sends butterflies to every part of my heart, the way the roller-coaster makes your stomach flip and makes you happy and nervous all at the same time.

he talks of his stories and his voice carries me to the place where he was, the passion and shaken up world that makes you want to hold him tighter.

he said "you're beautiful" and everything in me that tried to say no, let go, and I knew he meant it, truly, the way the sun will caress the sky every morning, and the way coffee warms your stomach.

Saturday afternoon Naps

Afternoon Naps.

As a little child living in Arizona, afternoon naps were the best. I remember Saturday mornings, my dad in his cut off jeans that were splattered with white paint and frayed at the bottom. His brown sperry's that had the same pattern of white paint. A worn t-shirt, usually white that sported his company on the front. This was his Saturday attire which meant that he would be out in the backyard finding something that needs to be fixed, altered or something he went to Home Depot for and came back with a new project.

The mornings would be cool and I would help dig, stand by, or mostly get in the way of my father hauling dirt, rocks, or bricks. I'd do my best to look like I was a big help. As the project wore on the sun started blazing, the flies coming out to bother and the breeze coming to a stop. My father would go in around lunchtime, grab a big glass of water and a bowl of bean soup and sit on the floor in the living room watching football. I distinctly remember his smell, that would be of sweat and some type of soap and look at his hands, white blisters forming from digging a hole. I was so proud of my dad.

As he would finish his lunch, I knew he was going to go back out. Between the football and the exhaustion of sun, a nap was more in my mind then going back out.

My room was purple with a wallpaper border in the middle with dancing bunnies. The room was darker then normal as my dad would go around the house before going out to save energy. My bed, white with ruffles was made and my purple striped pillows sitting nicely on the bed. I would lay down and see the dust float in the room where my blinds let in a little light, rows of dust particles dancing in the light. I could hear the air conditioning click on and my little mermaid sheets clung onto the Johnson Baby shampoo I had used last night. My baby blanket was cool from the air, worn to silk, and I would bury my face into it and breath in the scent of wash detergent. I would hear my mother doing something in the kitchen and I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort. As I would close my eyes, I could hear my father mowing the lawn. Saturday afternoon naps were the best.