one hundred and five

105. my blood sugar after a hike up and down the mountain.
no feelings of going low: no shakes, sweats, or frights

105. my score and my win.
taken at the start of a calming and deserved sit down looking over vancouver, canada.
the hike behind us and dinner ahead.
grouse mountain.
what a nice place to be.

it is shorts and a sweatshirt weather.
cloud free, although i rather enjoy a good cloudy day, this day is sharply clear
and evermore, freeing

105. i show him the number.
nice!‘ he replies, a high five made of sound waves

we sit together at 105.

‘stand up and i’ll take some pictures’ he suggests.
it is the most breath-taking view we have encountered with privacy since riding the gondola up, up, up to the base before the bigger gain.

should i take my sweatshirt off?” i wonder and then ask.
yeah” he agrees sweetly.

105. i want to be here forever, i think as he wraps his arms around me,
our eyes facing out to the topography of vancouver.
studying the grooves and points of nature and man, together we fall in love with this place.

i know we just talked about not feeling a need to rush anything” he whispers in my ear.

he goes on….

i don’t ever want to be without your either, i think as he presents his love in words.

105. the number of beats per second.
i can feel his blood surging
heart leaping through his yellow button down,
banging kindly on my back.
are you here with me, his heart keeps asking

holding tightly, he begins to turn around…
he faces me without letting go
an intense offering made through the lock of our eyes

he smiles softly.

“i don’t have a newsroom…” he says as he begins to kneel to the pebbled sierra, the only soul bearing witness to our unfolding history

“…but i do have a mountain.”

reaching in his pocket, is he really reaching in his pocket?
a trinket box, brilliantly blue and textured.
i’m present here.
i’m here.
we are here.

of course, of course, of course.

105. the number of times i nodded in a hug squat,
holding, embracing, loving
moving a new ring around and around and around to feel all it’s ridges.

tiny tears in our eyes
wide grins and smooth ‘i can’t believe this is happening‘ laughter.
we stand, hand in hand, and walk toward our first dinner as somehow more than we had been moments before.

bigger. grander. stronger.

one hundred and five.
one oh five.

6 thoughts on “one-oh-five

  1. This is beautiful, and I’m so happy for you!

    I’m sure you’ll never look at that number in the same way again. When you buy a house together, I hope your address is 105.

  2. Gah, just stumbled across your blog and I love it! I haven’t found many fellow 20-something diabetes blogs.This post was especially beautifully written. Congratulations to you!

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