I wouldn’t know how to describe a painting or a sonata, but I can tell
someone my feelings. Though people rarely know the meanings behind them…
Words fail me often, but nobody notices. They don’t seem to listen anyway.
One person knows me. When I talk to her, my words are knives in a drawer,
they have power. The possible damages of them could be horrific…..or so
she implies.
She and I are like a house which fell apart–currently undergoing
some careful remodeling. The mailbox is like the similarities in our
past…
..there isn’t one. Religion is the sidewalk….cracked and broken almost to
the point of confusion whether there was a sidewalk there or not…..but new
concrete is now being poured. Holes and cracks being filled in the walls
are like
patching with “devotion/love-putty” in every argument in our future. A roof
which
has caved in. To most this would be formidable, but to her, a peaceful
night under
the stars! I love her attitude.
Her thoughts sleep….while I stay up with the moon trying to exercise
the demons in my mind. She is too intelligent, too spiritual for her own
peace. A shaman, stuck in time. I’m a regular “Joe,” with no spiritual
thoughts,
just facts……facts that make me wonder why she loves me. She, a stroke
of
genius and a slap in the face to the world. I’m a stroke of nothing and
usually
that world. I’m always restless, searching for my answers. Although beauty
sleep
is not what she needs, she always seems to get it. Stories about morals and
religion slip from her mouth, while comical stories come from mine. She
laughs.
Probably to make me feel humorous. I love her generosity.
Some things I say are like sour notes played too often. I’m out of
tune, but she always sings along. Our “relationship waltz” is better than
most. We
know our own steps by heart. She sometimes makes me nervous, still. Her
dreams are bigger than both of us. When she speaks about them her words
flow
so smoothly. My words fall from my lips clumsily. They aren’t enough to
explain
who I want to be for her. I am so flawed sometimes and she is sure let me
know it…..
“I’m going to Bobby’s hose.”
“Hose?? Bobby’s hose? I think you are looking for the word–house.”
She knew what I was saying, but she chooses to make a point. I love her
humor.
Our days together have roots that go deep. They go to the center
of the earth and back and wrap around memories that will never languish.
Images of her burn into my mind…..she’s carefully trying to balance me
on the tip of her finger, but she is too precarious and I always fall. I
laugh
when looking up, although saddened by her uncertainty. I love her
honesty.
I preach terrible love speeches to her all of the time…but I’m stronger
with a pen in my hand. My mind spins with thoughts that are like rain, I
can’t catch them all. I wish I could, but I feel a drought coming. I’ll
weed
through the mess later. Right now I have plenty buckets to fill. Our
roof is leaking, and somehow…some way we will easily find it refreshing.
I love her.
