By David James
PROMPT — What is Love?
You may find someone staring at you when you glance up from washing dishes, and they smile.
They may bring you a hot tea while you’re reading a book, a tea you didn’t ask for but want.
You may fall asleep, head on their lap, and they remain still, quiet, even if they have to go to the bathroom.
They may bake you a cake or bring you flowers and expect nothing in return.
You may tell them your deepest secret, that secret no one else knows, and they listen, keep it to themselves.
They may touch your back or arm, or open the car door, or paint the spare bedroom, or knit you a blanket, or carry in the groceries, or pull the splinter out with tweezers, or cut your hair, or drive for two hours to be with you as you care for your mother in hospice, or hug you for no reason and not let go. Ever.
Born and raised on the third coast, Michigan, David James has published eight books and has had more than thirty of his one-act plays produced in the U.S., Ireland and England. He writes from Linden, MI.
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