What I was thinking


 

Honestly,

That I want to love you.

 

I want to spend hours wrapped up

In the way your individual thoughts unravel;

intricate, sublime, unique.

In the way you move, the curve of your cheek

And falling deeper into the indigo ocean that holds my gaze.

 

I want to run through the gently sloping hills of your soul:

Remembering the sound of every footstep

And studying the movements of the swans that mock your majesty and your grace.

 

I want to float into the light of your eyes,

The glimmer they get when you lightly touch my face

And say softly “hi”.

I want to revel in the joy those two letters provoke in me.

 

I want to love you.

 

To spend days walking slowly,

My heart in your hand,

Through the streets of our love,

Like an ancient city.

 

A city built of a crisp November sunrise.

Painted crimson and sapphire like a clean cut mosaic of first light.

A city so hauntingly beautiful it would chill you to the bone

Were it not for the strangely familiar warmth of your eyes.

 

I want to love you.

 

But I don’t understand how or what it is.

How to express the way

My heart stops when I hear your voice

Or how your touch makes my heart dance to a chaotic rhythm.

Then slow like the rhythm the stars waltz too

Slower still to the rhythm I wish to dance with you:

Slow like jazz in halved time

Eternal, unyielding, boundless.

 

I desperately want to love you.

 

 

But what is love?

And how would I know?

Are we too young for this?

Is love found or must it grow.

 

Is love a seed.

Soft, subtle, promising

Protected by our trust

Destined to grow slowly at the beginning

And quickened with time.

stalk flying higher into a clairvoyant, knowing sky

Limbs tangling, twisting, turning

Till it fuses us in consciousness

When you and I are one.

 

Or,

Is such singularity found?

When we meet our other half?

 

Does love tell you when you’ve found it?

Do the birds cue louder when it starts to blossom?

Will it whisper in our ear?

Singing ecstasy soft to our souls.

 

When cupid’s arrow finds us,

Will we, together, shed a tear?

 

Or is love diagnosed by its symptoms?

Like the cold or the flu.

Dizziness, heart palpitations, shortness of breath.

Mind racing through images of us.

Falling forever through this ocean of trust.

Falling till reason meets with its death.

 

Does love feel first like infatuation?

Till you see the fever through?

Frozen by my rashness

Do I still feel warm to you?

 

And now that time has cured me

And my stomachs settled down

Is love the reason I want to touch you with out touching you

As our spirits weave around?

 

 

 

Is it love that keeps me wanting, unstated when you’re gone.

Is it love that keeps me up at night wanting not to leave your bed?

 

 

If love is wanting to spend an eternity held softly, shepherded by your angelic gaze

If love is being so sickeningly comfortable with this euphoric uncertainty

If it is love that makes a man yearn for true brilliance and write

If it is love that allows a man to spend hours gazing at true beauty awe struck and speechless and yet for the first time complete

Then this is love.

 

And, if this is love

Then I only want to share this love with you.

One thought on “What I was thinking

  1. Pingback: Unsent Letter To All The Girls I’ve Loved | The Well Examined Life

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