The song of your laughter seeps into my ears like opium into my veins. On you I could overdose and never be injured.
I feel like a button beneath your thumb, like the muscle at the corner of your mouth; one motion from you and I burst alive.
I feel like a star being lassoed down from the sky, and as you pull me, your force is shaking the neighboring planets, the stardust, the cosmos. But what is love anyway if not something so enamoring and captivating that you lose your own sense of space, your own desire for freedom, the ability to control your own universe?
Suddenly it no longer matters who I am seeking to serve me; I no longer seek at all. My tastebuds for a soulmate have changed altogether; instead of desiring a person to cater to my appetite I desire a person who curbs it.
Maybe in between the grieving of a lost love and the sifting of men like pastry flour I have become familiar with the face of true Love. In my weakness I used men like dishrags to wipe up the emotional spills from my broken heart, and just as quickly threw them out with yesterday’s garbage.
But then I grew up, and then, you walked in.
You haven’t intended to let me see it, but your inner child shines and beckons me even in your glances, even in the way your hands move.
I never assumed I would be called to someone like you. You, with your great sad eyes, your stamped passport and that bucket of experience over your shoulder, those parcels of luggage trailing you. But in the time between using men as a dishrag and growing into womanhood, I have learned that love is not about what a person can do for me; how a person can make me feel. Love is about what a person draws out of me. And darling – when I am with you I feel the heart of God beating in me, beating for you. I love you not because of what you do for me but because of what you draw out of me, the love of God.
I see what everyone else sees. That effervescent smile, those drooping, beautiful blues, glimmering with otherworldly light. I hear what others hear: the laughter woven into the fabric of your voice, the flight in your footsteps; the life in your spoken words.
But I also hear the little voice that sometimes speaks up from your subconscious, doubting your pathway and questioning your abilities; those heavy sighs that escape your chest on the difficult days.
And behind the impressive man that you are, I see a child standing on a stage, alone, wonder-filled, believing in a dream much bigger than he; scared, triumphant, terrified, bold; alive to the complete spectrum of human emotion.
I see you.
And darling, I love what I see.