untitled love rant - not for the weak of stomach
Ramon, my Ramon, you will never read this. Nobody's here anymore, and rightly so. I've been too twisted up to write anything these last years. But I was watching you laugh last night, and this popped into my head:
There's an anxiousness that comes along sometimes when I think of how I love you so much. It comes when I revel in your beauty and wonder if I can offer anything like it for your eyes (besides my hair, oh yeah). I wonder at your patience with my stupider bits and hope to god you receive even a fraction of that steadfastness from me. I hope that the ferocity and wonder with which I love you makes up for my thousand physical imperfections. I hope the words and words and WORDS I shower on you make up for my inability to grant you a moment's peace now and then.
Most of this I keep to myself, dearest, because such silly comparisons distress you so much.
They don't mean anything. There's nothing to them but my automatic cranial shutdown every time I contemplate the near-perfection of your love for me. Because you never treat me as anything but the most beautiful creature breathing - in your eyes I must be a queen, a wonder, a model of human generosity and kindness. I know you, and it's that sort of person who would make your eyes brighten as much as they do when you look at me. I keep looking at myself for reasons why you could dig me so evidently (human insecurity knows no bounds) when I could be watching YOU watching me. You're like a...a... you're really good lighting and a fan in my Photobooth of Life. And I never truly fear, not really.
Because since that day I saw you across the classroom I've craved you beyond the telling of it. And since that day my heart asks, every day, "Are you mine? Are you? Can I have you reallyreallyreally, for the rest of my life?" And never has your response wavered. To my every unspoken Question you have always, always answered with an unspoken, but deafening, "Yes."
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
There's an anxiousness that comes along sometimes when I think of how I love you so much. It comes when I revel in your beauty and wonder if I can offer anything like it for your eyes (besides my hair, oh yeah). I wonder at your patience with my stupider bits and hope to god you receive even a fraction of that steadfastness from me. I hope that the ferocity and wonder with which I love you makes up for my thousand physical imperfections. I hope the words and words and WORDS I shower on you make up for my inability to grant you a moment's peace now and then.
Most of this I keep to myself, dearest, because such silly comparisons distress you so much.
They don't mean anything. There's nothing to them but my automatic cranial shutdown every time I contemplate the near-perfection of your love for me. Because you never treat me as anything but the most beautiful creature breathing - in your eyes I must be a queen, a wonder, a model of human generosity and kindness. I know you, and it's that sort of person who would make your eyes brighten as much as they do when you look at me. I keep looking at myself for reasons why you could dig me so evidently (human insecurity knows no bounds) when I could be watching YOU watching me. You're like a...a... you're really good lighting and a fan in my Photobooth of Life. And I never truly fear, not really.
Because since that day I saw you across the classroom I've craved you beyond the telling of it. And since that day my heart asks, every day, "Are you mine? Are you? Can I have you reallyreallyreally, for the rest of my life?" And never has your response wavered. To my every unspoken Question you have always, always answered with an unspoken, but deafening, "Yes."
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
posted by Cerise at 12:11 PM
1 Comments:
My words feel so paltry right now, but that's reallyreallyreally beautiful. (posted by Is)
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