He truly loved the word.
His only dream was to speak it, live by it, and heal with it.
In just one long breath he taught me
the good book and the tragedies
of growing up hood and
Having a mind that bends perceptions of what poor and brown should walk like.
He was hyperbole in motion and every other chica fell for his tall voice and his whisper.
Even I could not let on that my thoughts were high jacked by our times together.
He could take a story and wrap it around me like a warm blanket on a cold night,
but I’d wake up in a word tourniquet
Confused and tripping.
We were good at playing scientific
Question after question until we’d reach that wall of frustration
and end the conversation.
Late nights, after many nights, and even years, he’d find me again and we’d sit and talk, exploring every impossibility that lead us back to the same conclusion:
I need you and you need me.
But that question, How do you love me?
Neither one of us could ever ask.
The title of our story always seemed to start backwards from
The long-winded heart bending
love letters that read
like something out of Shakespeare’s head.
The synchronized heart breaks soon turned
moments of completeness
No answer satisfied the other….
How do you love me? In simple terms. Please don’t expand the words.
Do not frame them. Do not take them and spin them just for me.
Is this fast track or like a drip of slow honey? No answer.
Just the beat- beat- beat of your feet on the pavement after a long kiss good-bye for the 5th time.
It’s impossible to define “Let’s just be.”
When I am with you all the other moments never match.
There are no socks for these sort of cold feet. I love you. I do. I love you more than–
There it was
until one day all doubts dried up and left
After Many nights, and even years he will find me again and we will sit and talk, exploring every impossibility that lead us back to the same conclusion,
I need him and he needs me.
No need to ask that question.