I still love you, to put it simply.
It's not simple, of course.
The months passing have changed me,
but not that.

I love all of your facets,
your complexity.
The way you talk in your sleep
to get just a few more minutes
under the covers;
your mischievous 5-year-old grin
when you know
I'm letting you get away with something;
how your closets always seem like avalanches
and you look like a god in a towel;
how a simple hug from you
could erase my bad days.
Wrestling matches, snuggle marathons,
anime and ice cream and Thai food
and just being with you.
I still miss it
and I still love you.

And once, you loved me, too -
knew the worst thing about me
and wanted me anyway,
delighted in my smile, my laugh
because you brought them out.
An unlikely, chance pair,
but somehow we fit, instantly,
a meeting for coffee turning into
an all-day exploration,
each wonderful to the other
and together something more,
something beautiful, natural.

That part never went away;
love was never the problem.
The uncertainty of our end
makes me hope, still, for us,
but with that comes fear,
for I'm stronger
but just as vulnerable
when it comes to you,
and how much you could hurt me
if you knew how you hold
my breath in your gun-powdered hands,
how your touch could shatter
the porcelain under my skin.
Despite this, the risk of pouring salt
on this open wound,
still
I love you.

And now it's out:
the die is thrown,
the dye cast,
and I wait,
still,
not daring to breathe out
my hope or my fear,
wondering whether my dive
off this cliff
will be met with welcoming waves
or rocks beneath the surf.
I hover in midair,
still,
and waiting.

11/28/2008

Posted on 01/04/2009
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