a quiet house.

they decided to marry quietly, in a quiet garden, and live in a quiet house.

they were happy.

"eli," she'd whisper, and he'd smile and take her hands. she'd hold his arm and they would dance in circles to frank sinatra vinyl disks.

they would dance and talk, dance and whisper, dance and laugh,

dance in their quiet house.

quiet, except for them of course.

she'd laugh with her head thrown back, her hair tangled but soft against his palms. he'd laugh too, but he would be controlled. she was more free than him, in many ways, but he loved her anyway, and she loved him.

the floorboards would creak under their dancing feet, the air filled with laughter, joy clouded her eyes and his mouth blossomed with smiles.

and they wanted a baby.

their wish was granted.

he touched her abdomen sometimes and marvelled that there was life there.

that their life was there now.

she would need breaks sometimes, but he didn't mind waiting.

they waited for their life patiently, waiting to become a father, waiting to become a mother, waiting for change.

life was hard with an extra heart waiting to be born.

"I'm tired, eli," she'd pant, and he'd hold her again.

and they would dance.

quietly.