you feel those moments where your mind slips through the cracks and your heart fills with the brilliance of the deep evening moon. you watch his thoughts melting into the evening and you feel the words tattooed on your arm and you wonder how the world ever formed into such a chasm. you see his eyes in every story and feel the clouds softly against your skin when your mind begins to wander down that road. you know reveries. you know long hallways and running through canyons and crashing into walls, wondering when the doors will swing wide open and you’ll find yourself, beautiful and free and captured all at the same time.
i met you in the waters and you asked me for my soul. tears came to my eyes and i reached up to touch your cheek, feeling the late evening roughness of your skin as you looked down at me. time may have passed but i don’t remember, there was a moon but i didn’t see it, i read you a poem but you did not hear it (my voice had disappeared, you slept in my thoughts and i forgot that my mouth hadn’t yet opened). i remembered something about seagrass and sonatas, but only felt your breath on the back of my neck as i pushed myself back into your cocoon.
never did i remember a night that had never happened but never had my heart been at that very moment in time, at that very recollection where a life once lived meant nothing compared to the life that could be. i breathed in.
the words felt like slow falling snow in the minutes before dawn. i was awoken and found the tip of my nose cold from the hint of a winter soon to emerge, and pulled away from your warm body to stand by the window and look up at the night sky. there is always a shadow of doubt that needs to be smoothed with time, with sincerity, with a willingness to step into the cold and take what the universe has to offer.
my mind left the water, looked past the snow, and gazed over at you. there was a light in your eyes, a quiet warmth emanating that bathed me in your truth. i looked through your lens and saw your own reflection, sang your song, wandered your roads. i forgave myself of my girlhood transgressions and allowed you to peel me back, layer by layer. there will always be pieces of me you do not know, but there will never be days where i won’t want you to trace the outline of me, explore the inside of me, and bring me the pieces of you. i am your warmth, i am the touch that you cannot always feel but always know is near, i am your comfort, i am your soft place to fall and easy place to return.
there are wounds and fears and scars and anxieties and there is excitement and tenderness and a deeply satisfying sound to hearing your voice before i close my eyes. i am a book still being written, yet you read me each day like you have always understood my story. when i think of you i only say to myself, softly, ‘here’s to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap and to your (in my arms flowering so new) self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain’. i open the tattered cover and all i see…
there is a
in the blue
amorous of waters
blinded with silence the
undulous heaven yearns where
in tense starlessness
anoint with ardor
the yellow lover
stands in the dumb dark
love i slowly
of thy languorous mouth the
~ ee cummings