I Love you, he said.Posted: March 18, 2012
I know that you tell me you love me because you do love me, but also because you want to hear it, too. Reassurance, you want. You want to quell that shaking little voice inside, that uneasiness that makes you wonder if muses are temporary, like vapors from the misty ground, beauty here and there that lingers on its own terms then dissipates, is gone with no scheduled return.
I know you want more. More words, more solid. More standing still. More than I can reach right now when I reach down down inside and seek answers of myself. I cannot give you what I do not know.
And what do I feel? I feel water, embracing me and mutable, moving with my moves. I feel waves, but don’t know whether to leap over or to let go. Will I be brought to shore or carried out to sea? Are you the shore? Are you a refuge? Cleansing, or abrading? Water or sand? Water or its current? Power, electricity, attraction?
I stand, but I stand not knowing where any move, however small, will take me. Thus, I don’t know where we should go. Your choice is whether or not to take me as I am when I tell you, amidst all of my uncertainty, that I love you.