I wanted to write her one of those” I love you essays” but I can’t you see because the thing you can’t see is the same thing that keeps these eyes chained too nostalgia and memories..
That’s where we live….in that time of then and..Who knows? I’m not really entitled to know..to know things like how she feels with her head on my chest listening to a thunder storm and creating lightning with our heartbeats, or how she feels in that moment before falling completely asleep…you know the one I’m talking about, when the world fades to a shade of gray and the blankets around you seem to be electric heated love and you can breathe in a centered, “ I love this moment” form.

To know things like, if her cheeks go as pink as I imagine when she is put on the spot with my hand resting on the back of her neck in a Lips and hips locked expression of my overwhelming desire for her at that moment…and every moment that I can remember with her in it. You can’t see that she is the physical personification of the beauty that I would hope to be gifted with by Gods right hand or the brilliance of a moment’s recognition that life exists within its fragile walls.

I love her on levels deep enough to rewrite and burn books written about the subject… and she is the topic of conversation whenever the subject of “the one who got away” comes up. I could write volumes about the way that the earth seems to give way under her step to reward her for the gift she is to its surface with every light footed pixie like motion she makes.

The things I want to share with her and feel with her aren’t mine to have and yet thinking what it would be like gives me the will to keep dreaming about the perfection that we could make..I use that word sparingly..but to spare all the intensity of my thoughts about her would not truly convey the feeling of true symphony that our souls dance would create….Simply put, I love her, I love her, I love her…its simple right?...then why can’t I love her?

…..A twisted tale of things that he has and everything that I hold true...I would if I could but I can’t so I think and there is the beauty of pain and she is still there…crying alone into Ben and jerries with a white gown catching the remains of that pain and she stands alone and the only thing that I want in this thing we call life is to make perfectly certain that she never has to spend one day in that place that doles depression pill poppers and keeps us staring into late night skies wondering when it’s going to change….but I can’t you see, because the one thing that I want to give her isn’t mine to give