If I wrote you a letter you’d probably shed a tear of happiness but also possibly one of angst. You might consider me to be less understanding than you’d originally thought but the truth is I cannot understand all that encompasses the human condition and neither can you. I can write to you and tell you how beautiful you are, the way your mind works and the passion you have in your heart, the way your skin shimmers in the sunlight, your strength and how it is bigger than anything you could build in a gym. The calmness in your presence, that feeling that floods the veins of even the most delinquent of individuals with sweetness like that from honeysuckles. The speechless conversations we have with our eyes is the rawest I’ve ever heard your heart speak.
I’d tell you I don’t understand it all and I’d tell you I’m still learning. Write you and tell you I feel the wholehearted warmth of love in my soul but have the broad grip of a heartsore past encompassing it although I beg it desperately to let go. Tell you how I feel the arresting sensation of your electric touch and the submission of the brick and mortar protecting my core. I’d tell you I am broken but unexhausted, unwilling to allow concentrated anguish to make me believe there isn’t better. The suffering hasn’t defined me… It has strengthened me.
The investigation of something new is always unexpected, like trying to read with blind eyes. It satisfies the salty desires of our tongue as we leave the safe refuge of what we know is our truth. The inconvenience of an unknowing mind is overpowered by the desires of an authentic soul searching for sincerity. The abstract flatness of what was once perceived to be life is rejuvenated with the spice of something new, different, interesting… and hopefully long-lasting.
Love may be a paradox but without it our souls would never smile.