Before

Before 

*Written roughly a year ago. Before the thing happened. Before he chose someone else. 

Writing is sacred because of this very phenomenon: Being able to encapsulate an emotion long after it is gone. 

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Happiness
Happiness is lovely, particularly when the source comes from within. When two independently happy people fall in love, all positive feelings are put under a magnifying glass. In these cases, excess doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. Joy doesn’t know how to sit still. It vibrates, radiates, dances across lover’s eyes; It taints the sky a softer shade of blue. 

This phenomenon is only possible though assuming both parties had a deep rooted self-love that could never be replaced by love provided by some other human. Thus allowing them to love another wholly, and enjoy of a shared happiness, instead of a Band-Aid solution to a personal emotional deficit.

Sometimes I have what I call “Love Seizures”. Maybe you’ve felt them too.  These consist of random spasms throughout the day when you plop into my mind and a wave of bliss takes over. It’s an overwhelming need to transmit, in whatever possible way, everything you mean to me. “How can I explain to you my happiness? My golden, lovely happiness.” How to let you know how wholly I am yours—with every shard of poetry that lives under my skin, the outbursts, the stretchmark’s and thoughtful thunderstorms? Or explain that I see you reflected across the pages of every book I read. You deserve to be spoken to the way people speak about truth; with precision and serenity and lightness.  Sometimes I think it’s hard to talk about you. Mainly because I don’t want to risk staining you with some ugly diminutive. Words alone are not enough, because my dear, through my eyes you are absolutely resonant. Sometimes I’ve come to think that you’re unused to being understood. I think that after our first meeting it was clear that our souls (even though I know you don’t believe in them) are made of the same things. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but there was a mystic magnetism to that casual encounter that provided more than enough foreshadowing to the events that would promptly follow.

You’re a symphony. I think that’s the best way to describe this. A building crescendo that swells the senses. You’re an encyclopedia that’s being truly held by soft hands for the first time. I am a freefall. You are my parachute. You are the only person I can talk to about the shape of a cloud, or about how I rode my bike around the block today and found a wall that was a beautiful shade of pink. You’re the person I talk about rain with. Not to inform, but to reflect. It’s raining, did you feel that? It’s raining and it feels like a spiritual caress. It’s raining and my eyes are fluttering but it has to do less with the specks of water dangling on my eyelashes and more to do with the light I see in your smile.  As time goes by I can feel the way we’re accumulating knowledge of each other. You intuitively know more about me than I know about myself, and vice versa.