757, 756, 755: A love letter
Dear you who does not exist because you exist so much,
You exist all around me, not like god or air but maybe like the day. The day that I wake up to, in this tiny crag of time. You exist like the day, which is to say that you exist in a manner that is both steady and capricious. I will take you for granted because I have so much of you (so much 'you', in fact). I will also not take you for granted because when I wake up in the morning, I will not expect to find you there. But I'll see you all the same - in a lavender tree with lavender blooms and plum-soaked dawn. You let loose the night after brightness is done and go to sleep like a sweet child. When I look back at you, I think of you the way I think of the child...what a monster you were. And I smile.
I write to you today because I did not write to you on Valentine's Day. Forgive the inaccuracies of tenses. To have you now feels like to have had you forever. The present with you unspools into the days gone by and the days to come. You have always been. Not always with me though and it feels so funny to have you with me now. To do the mundane things with - like buying napkins, like filling water, like moving slippers from beneath the sofa. To do all that with you is to just colour every single blank space with crayons. This way the colours will shine and be waxy and childlike. This way we will be innocent despite our ages and our learnings.
You are here now and I can't remember how you came. It seems like you arose from a part of me that was tender and soft. Like some kind of homeland. You came from a part of me that hadn't yet blazed with ferocity or broken under the strain of sad, hard days. You came from a part of me that was noble and clear, green like the rock that doesn't sparkle or gleam but that lays noble, wistful, wise. You came from a part of me that was like jade. With you, I have felt that things can start over, that things can be new, that wishes are as real as moss and sweat.
It is so funny to have found you, my dear little jade, in an age when being 'jaded' is not a good thing at all.
You exist all around me, not like god or air but maybe like the day. The day that I wake up to, in this tiny crag of time. You exist like the day, which is to say that you exist in a manner that is both steady and capricious. I will take you for granted because I have so much of you (so much 'you', in fact). I will also not take you for granted because when I wake up in the morning, I will not expect to find you there. But I'll see you all the same - in a lavender tree with lavender blooms and plum-soaked dawn. You let loose the night after brightness is done and go to sleep like a sweet child. When I look back at you, I think of you the way I think of the child...what a monster you were. And I smile.
I write to you today because I did not write to you on Valentine's Day. Forgive the inaccuracies of tenses. To have you now feels like to have had you forever. The present with you unspools into the days gone by and the days to come. You have always been. Not always with me though and it feels so funny to have you with me now. To do the mundane things with - like buying napkins, like filling water, like moving slippers from beneath the sofa. To do all that with you is to just colour every single blank space with crayons. This way the colours will shine and be waxy and childlike. This way we will be innocent despite our ages and our learnings.
You are here now and I can't remember how you came. It seems like you arose from a part of me that was tender and soft. Like some kind of homeland. You came from a part of me that hadn't yet blazed with ferocity or broken under the strain of sad, hard days. You came from a part of me that was noble and clear, green like the rock that doesn't sparkle or gleam but that lays noble, wistful, wise. You came from a part of me that was like jade. With you, I have felt that things can start over, that things can be new, that wishes are as real as moss and sweat.
It is so funny to have found you, my dear little jade, in an age when being 'jaded' is not a good thing at all.
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