Fullbeam

Mirabel is my snuggler. Well, she's everyone's snuggler. She falls asleep on shoulders and wiggles into elbow crooks. But Luciya has never really been like that. From infancy, she's been joyfully shrieking her independence wishes.

Tonight, though, after I finished reading her the customary three books before bed and turned off the light, Luciya rolled toward me and snuggled. She wordlessly planted her cheek on my shoulder and let her long lashed graze my neck while her soft warm breath ticked my collarbone.

They say the Eskimos have, like, 65 words for love, and I want to know which word they would use to describe the utter okayness that filled the space within her lilac walls, that made a periwinkle butterfly with fat, full wings burst from my chest. If I had a chance to name a Love, I'd call this one Fullbeam. Because I was filled to full with the shine that is the sweetest, lovliest, dearest love. And for those five minutes, with my arm tucked safely around her and my palm against her little ribcage, the world was safe and good.

Then, of course, she rolled away from me, and I got to watch the nightlight glow just barely illuminate the curve of her olive cheek. And I brushed my lips across her forehead and whispered "I love you."

My Fullbeam bringer