Bones

In the photo, my wife stood there kissing me, her breath a tangle of goodness. She had long been my hero, way before she was my wife, and you can see in the photo that she knew it. There was a bird fluttering between us, and when we stood right next to each other, the bird could finally rest. My wife had good bones, they were the family bones of our child, the one who is not yet there in the photo—a child so strong he can fall from his bike in front of a car and not get completely crushed. When the photo was taken, we had just returned from a Penny arcade, and I had won my soon-to-be wife a teddy bear, and she kissed me as if she were kissing the stuffed bear.