Never before did I think this type of thing could happen to me – that indescribable rush of emotions that comes with such a startling wave; you washing over me and into the every quark of my being. You, as tangible as the morning coffee you get up to bring me in bed every single morning, as real as the steps we take together, casting our way through the white snowy streets, more beautiful than any song we spend evenings singing along to, more graceful than any slow dance, than any stroke of a brush on a blank canvas.
You are more than a feeling, beyond the realm of anything I could foresee; a delightful surprise of a wish, one I could have never envisioned making, for you are too wonderful to have ever crossed my mind before that moment across the street from the American Embassy. We sat face to face with a steady gaze, and a sort of nervousness. Two strangers capable of emotions they never knew they had within them. No, I did not know my Darling. I did not know that the stories shared about remote places and times, or the hours spent walking by the river our bodies soaked by the summer rain would stem into anything more than that moment in time. You see Darling, I have been tired for too long, and an abrupt ending would have not phased me. So I let our walks, football games and nights sitting on terraces be exempt from the clinging hope that they’d never go away. And with the transient seasons, they did go away, but you Darling, you stayed.
And so we signed a lease and bought curtains and frames to decorate our little home with our favourite colours – a sanctum in which we’ll cook, laugh, cry, read, write and sing loudly. In the corner of the room, by the balcony there is a chair, I see you with such precision sitting there, learning a language so unknown to you – my mother tongue. I listen to the eloquent way in which you pronounce words and sentences you just learned, and smile at the way you put your hand over your mouth like a little boy, when you feel embarrassed at the thought you may said something wrong.
With our erratic thoughts, and fragile pasts, we built an entirety; a place where states of being hidden from the rest of the world blossom, in their most beautiful form, in unseen ugliness. No amount of dark thoughts and foul moods change the way you look at me. All fears and conditioned beliefs desert me every time the blue of your eyes pauses on my face, every moment our limbs entwine and our lungs breathe at the same rhythm.
Your voice, I want to hear it whisper goodnight, and hear it speak of things you have seen, story lines you wish to write and of worries of death and impermanence, and all the comedic distractions from the inevitable; I want to walk to the rhythm of your steps in cities and towns where no one knows of us, taking in all the beauty and the awe rivers and fields have to offer. Yours is the hand I want to feel wrinkle with the imminent flight of years, and my Darling, yours is the face I want to wake up to every morning of my life, and count every line that forms around your eyes from a spell of laughter and of wonder.