I try not to think about you too much. It’s very easy to become dependent on another person. And that makes you weak. Caring for someone, caring too much makes you weak. Yet there are days when I feel as if the thought of you is holding me together, and if were to let it go I would simply vaporize.
Have you sat down with a person, and just talked to them. Not wanting, not daring to say anything other than what you really mean. Just saying the things that no does anymore for some reason. The little things, the insignificant ones to those who do not take a moment out of their life to think, ponder and reflect.
Have you seen a person so very beautiful and so very broken? Smiling through it with their lips but never with their eyes, never through their eyes. As you gaze into their eyes and by the virtue of them in their soul, it bears signs of malign, hurt and abuse. Done in spite and in pettiness. Done by people who had lost themselves in a moment of terrible passion and left an impression so very repulsive.
It would be very easy for me to lose myself around you. To take you in my arms and hold you like you have never been held before. Hold you like I have never held any one before. And tell you that I will never let anyone hurt you. And if I do that will you believe me? Will you feel truly safe in my arms? Will you ever feel safe, anywhere, ever?
Then if I tell you that I will love you with a love that is more than love. Will you believe me? Will you believe me when I don’t believe the words I say myself? Not truly. Not enough. Not with an absolute conviction. For it’s not that I doubt the love that I bear for you, it’s just that I doubt the person I am. That I have become. Hard, callous, a liar. To myself and to the world at large.
I am what the world has made me. And I feel not even your insurmountable goodness, your insuperable kindness can cure the cynic inside of me. For he is of this world, well versed in its ways, its tragedies, its heartbreaks and its duplicities.
If despite knowing all that you can still see the little goodness I may have left inside of me and believe me to a man, honest, loyal and brave that I am not. Then perhaps through your certitude and love, I may become that man. The man that you believe me to be even though you know that you believe a lie.
For the best lies are truths that can be or should’ve been and for you my darling, I will be that man if you truly want me to be. A warrior, a poet, a farmer of little fame, much ardor.
So one night outside, under the splendidness of a sky full of stars. Under the moonlit heavens by a tree. If I take an oath to be by your side for an eternity and a day more still. Will you lay beside me? On the dew kissed grass, as the water slowly seeps into our clothes, our skins, our bones and everything that was once mine, and now ours. Everything that was once yours, and now mine. The little bugs and creatures of the brown earth, chirping around our ears. Crawling upon us as we lie hand in hand. Not dead but closer to it still. In Nirvana. Ultimate bliss. On a plane that exists beyond our comprehension. Where only connections between two souls entwined like ours can reach.
Will you fall asleep in my arms, a peaceful sleep long lost on you?
As Elune lays forgotten in the sky, and like a little sun you shine in my life, so that the darkness inside me finally shudders and retreats. And you warm up everything that was ever mine and now ours.
And as you are lost, I smell your hair and watch you sleep. Wondering how can I ever be so lucky to have you here tonight by my side. And if I trace the veins in your arms with my finger, will you jerk away from my touch? Scared. Or will you welcome it. Smile so very lightly while sleeping blissfully. And if go further and trace your scars where you have hurt yourself, your battle scars, my warrioress. Will you wear them proudly, no longer ashamed? If I were to touch you like that? Will you let me? An act so sinful, so lustful yet so profoundly beautiful, of ways old and forgotten, of a primordial language long lost to humans. The way nature still speaks among itself on cold, damp nights much like this one.
For I wish, not to fix you, and neither can I. What I can do is accept you, cherish you, worship you with a fevered admiration. Despite your brokenness.
Your battle scars make you beautiful, my lybbestre.