The Man is off to work.
Which he knows I love the look of his scrubbed down scruffiness, so he texts me a picture. (Another thing he's come to know - all picture texts are automatically at risk for online distribution).
I get up and tame my hair. Then back out of my driveway, also heading off into the working world. And though I leave my house, my bearings for home follow him.
Upward and onward,
Coming home to someone is many things. It is a literal action, an abstract idea, a physical feeling. It is more than the sound of the key turning in the door and the voice that calls from the porch. It is a choice, a promise, a declaration. It is a return, not as a person to a place, but as oneself to another. It is one individual saying to another: ‘You are the one I choose’.