192. Word? Word.

I've been meaning to write you something, but my carefully, hand-stroked words get lost in the wonderment of your light eyes - and I become somewhat of a speechless wanderer, misplacing my thoughts before you. But before you even became a heart-kissed realization, your form enlightened me. This was times ago. Kicking up lust that must have been born amongst the months I cried for, for someone else's problem that so feverishly became my entanglement...but that was just initially. Because you now know we are a much deeper us, and I’d like to have it no other way than a few more thousand leagues under from what I see.

You see, you are a beautiful abstract obscurity, facing the sun like no other person can stand against the hot circle of light. You are lovely in something a bit brighter. You bring peace to the days that are dark simply from radiance.

And understand, this doesn't resemble a storybook.
It’s not you calling for me, it’s me falling for you while you make every precautionary effort to keep me safe from breaking.
It’s you showing a feeling, and me showing equivalence, and us singing an off tuned melody that represents it metaphorically.
And sometimes,
It’s – you telling me that writing is not your forte...and the lost words that drip from the back of your mind become somewhat of a forever-neverland. I must guess what thoughts pour from your soul. I'd have it no other way.

Now, I’m obviously not perfect, and even though your writing is not - I think you are – because faith tells me to say so and faith has brought me good things and, face it, you’re perfect proof that faith misleads not.

So tonight let me crown you with my whispers while you daze between a sleep and dream’s end. “I enjoy you”, I’ll say. Above you, I’ll sway my pendulum of a once broken but now bandaged, healing heart. Because in this simple slumber of you – I’ll swear in the silence you save me. And you’ll save me still because it’s written on the walls with your signature below, cocking your hands back and elbows tucked like Muhammad Al-cut a – fool – for hurting you. And trust – I will cut a fool for hurting you - myself included.





So...thanks - giving my eyes the sweep when wet, you've allowed my vision to refocus. And when storm clouds hover over my existence, expected, you blow a kiss like high winds over summits. And sometimes my heavy heart sprouts sharp edges, but you stay to chisel away the uneasy until calm, again, resembling a lighter version of the pitter patters that keep the rhythm of my body. "Home is where the heart is," they say, but the phrase's just as beautiful in reverse because I feel it, now. Beating chest not empty.

So thank you.