Glimpse

It was an unlikely fit, you and me. You had a previous marriage, and a child. I had years of a broken heart. You smiled at me, and when I saw your dimples, it took away from the gruffness of you. They made you not so serious. They made you vulnerable. We liked each other right away. I thought you were smart and funny. I liked how you listened to me. You gazed at me. You wanted to hear what I had to say. That had never happened to me before. You wore bad shoes, and were a little rough around the edges, but you made me happy, and I made you laugh. 
You called me, and offered to make me dinner. No one had ever done that for me before. You picked me up, and I could tell you were nervous. You made me tortellini, and a salad. You tried to bake bread. You had wine. You lit candles. It was the best night. It was love.
After I had Olivia, you gave me a card. I keep it in our wedding album. It still makes me cry. It says the day you looked into my eyes, you saw a flash of your future. A flash that was so bright, you could not look away. You saw a glimpse of yourself. You felt innocent. It made you want to cry. You saw your purpose and your destiny. You saw secret parts of you, that you have never let anyone see. You saw your past forgiven, and envisioned the two of us dancing, in another time and place.
You said I was the face of your heart, smiling back at you.
We are still those people. We still have that future, and it is clear and bright. We have endured a lot. More than some. Far less than so many. Our home is us. Me and you, our olive branch, our diminutive woman, and our star of the sea.
We will always be dancing. We will remain whole. Whether under this roof, or in another home, whose doors we have yet to walk through.
You are the face of my heart, smiling back at me.
Dimples and all.
I love you so very much, David.