Incertitude is one tenacious whisperer, and lately the air around my ears has been the most susurrous. I do have been meaning to write though, honestly. Eventually, I did and even that wasn’t the end of the procrastination-perfectionist thread, I still sneaked in a couple of weeks to let the letters brew. Thankfully I’m here now, after lengthy negotiations with myself, a dozen precautions the wind refused shelter and a little compromise up my sleeve.
Let’s say I have been waiting for the perfect moment to write you, to catch my emotions raw to grab and paste to ink. But those butterflies in my stomach were always fleeting. The next day we would argue, I’d get mad and change your contact to your government name, the official insignia for those butterflies devolving to maggots. Maybe my letters talked about how quickly we’d make up and I would reschedule those letters yet again.
Maybe I wrote that I felt as connected to you as you did when we first met. I just couldn’t tell you because indifference was my best card back then, and I was scared. Scared to lose myself to someone’s willpower. And that’s what being vulnerable is, and relatively, love.
Maybe its just a little hard to believe sometimes, to have that kind of certainty you know? I mean two people can’t be that similar, different, equally stubborn and yet void of even a whiff of reasonable doubt of their affections…right?
Perhaps, at times when we’re deep in conversation, I’m just intrigued by your thought process, and if I observe long enough, I can catch the exact moments you change your mind, sift through ideas till you find an acceptable one, sift through that one till finally you get a conviction. It’s a corny little thing, but its you, and I can’t help myself.
Were I candid, I’d say there’s nothing about you the sun hasn’t yet shone it’s light, but you’re just right. Just perfect for me. Cause’ anyone could be intelligent. Anyone could be thoughtful and calm. And believe me I’ve met all the any’s, left the one’s.
But you.
You’re not just anyone, You’re mine, with all the conviction and none of the doubt. To loosely quote Amy, it gets better and better than I imagined. I love you more today. But I said that yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before.
So let’s make shelter here my love, on this our little island,
our upward trajectory, this steep hill, these bruises, this place where minute hopes friction our climb.
Never looking back,
Let’s.
See, I got so caught up in my revelation, I forgot all about my pact to keep my letters hypothetical. Well, what can I say, pacts with poets are always like that …unclassified.
Like moments. Perfect ones anyway.
And perfect moments are rare, when they do arrive, they aren’t overnight guests. You my love, have overstayed your welcome.
I couldn’t be more relieved.
Twenty Fever 