Let’s be realistic.

I don’t love you because you make the sun rise in the West and set in the East. Nor do I love you because in your eyes I can see the true essence of the universe. I will not glorify our moments together, fill you with some very lyrical and deep words from poets that will describe things they felt and I could not even fathom.

I will most certainly not attempt to tell you that you are the most perfect creature on the planet Earth, because there is no such thing and, I hate lies. I am pretty good at them; don’t get me wrong. I excel at telling people what they want to hear, the exact moment they want to hear it. But I will not do the same with you here, tonight.

We are the sum of our imperfections, you know. Our flaws and vices, our positive traits, the things that make each of us unique; we have been gifted and have acquired throughout our years on this godforsaken planet. The endless struggle for the acquisition of an identity, a certain character and a distinct personality.

And then you meet a person that lights everything on fire. The blazing fire has a certain mysticism around it; you can’t take your eyes off of it.

And that is how I feel about you. I have no idea if you are destructive, unstable, uncertain, unusual; or any other un- for that matter.

There is no reason to use Byron’s lines; or any other of the Romantic’s for that matter.

Not today, at least; maybe tomorrow.

Today I write to you, the you that will read this amidst the chaos of your surroundings and may or may not find some code I’ve hidden, that only you will understand.

At the end of the day, I love you means “I want to be with you when I can be with anyone else.” I do not want you to be the only choice because there is nothing else available out there, but because all the available people in the world play some kind of different music and my brain is only attuned to yours.

At the end of the day, whatever day, whatever time, I want to curl into bed with you and hold you close to me. And I know that everything else inside me, every motherfucking anxiety, every sign of depression and fear will stand a halt. For those precious moments I will dive deep in your eyes, feel your skin and kiss your lips there will be nothing more important than you.

I keep hearing that love is not a conscious choice, that feelings are not tamed and I cannot but laugh. Maybe not too loudly, because then I might realize the laugh is a scream. But, even so, I guess you’ll understand.

Loving is dangerous because if you can direct that force at something, there is really nothing that can stop you from accomplishing just about anything. There is nothing more dangerous than a person that loves; you do not ever want an adversary that is so stubborn to not feel the chilling cold at a huge airport and write those lines, one that has a calendar and counts down days.

One that finds that Judith Butler has probably revealed one of the most profound truths about human relationships, the real ones, not those that fill a void or they serve in the future as “experiences” of any sort.

“Let’s face it. We’re undone by each other. And if we’re not, we’re missing something”

I love you because you undo me. And as an origami puzzle, I am taken apart and rebuilt, restructured; I am different just for that. And I cherish both your mind and body for I am at awe in front of both of them.

The sun is rising my love.

Good morning sunshine.

Author: Michael Poe

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