This letter has begun with your name and will end with mine, but everything in between is about us. The story of us, from my point of view. My love for you, for us. I was feeling poetic, and then the picture of you, of you and me caught my eye from across the room, staring me down, calling to my creative side. So now I write, about you, about me, and most importantly about us. I am sitting on my couch, alone, and you are probably doing the same on your futon. I write these words with the gummy bear pen you bought me at Books-A-Million—I know it was a joke, but it really is useful. In seven different places in my trailer, the time is seven different o-clocks, but on the right time, the one on my iPhone, reads 12: 39 am. I guess that’s late. I can see you drifting off, your eyes, your face, you relaxed and asleep. I love watching you sleep. I feel like I can read the electronic abstracts of dreams through your translucent eyelids, lavender fatigue, and featherlike eyelashes. You send peaceful and sleepy vibes through the air when you sleep, which is why I often fall asleep on the couch with you. Going to sleep with you is like the rainbow after a warm summer rain. Waking up to you is the pot of gold at the end. Waking up to your head on my chest is like being a rainbow.
The day we met shifted my existence forever. I remember the first time I ever saw you. I sat in a coffee shop, a local one that defeated Starbucks quality-wise but seemed pricey to most white people. I didn’t really care though. I sat alone, as usual, in my rat-hole corner with my mug of black decaf and USA Today. I remember precisely how everything changed when you walked in—the air, the heartbeat, the cordial vibrations of the silent dwelling. As soon as I saw you something inside my churned, my heart warmed and a fresh, forbidden desire was lit within me. Perfection is an understatement to describe how amazing you look. Your skin was pure, a transparent pure. Your cheeks were peachy but your skin was a radiant snow white. Like a rose, you were both delicate and beautiful. I feel as if I were to look at you without the eyes holding the highest respect and awe, you would fade away and die. You were a like a spider web at dawn’s first light, diamond tears of rain sparkling on your thin threads of silver, radiant and beautiful in the dew-misted sun—delicate to the touch, beauty to the eye. You were surrounded by a glow, a soft, glamorous glow, like the afterglow rings of a feathery full moon. Your hair was golden rays of sunshine, your eyes lush green pastures. Something about you spoke to me, obviously. A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes. I gasp aloud as it tore through them, opening them. The stars, the moon, the sun grew brighter. The light blew out my dimness and sunk your radiance into me. My twilight flustered into an explosion of dawn. You were the moonbeam that pierced my dark night skies. I wanted to stand in your force field of wonder for just a second, to soak up your radiance and pulchritudinous. To be honest, it was the first time I’d ever been that drawn to a woman without looking below the neck. In fact, I hadn’t even taken a glimpse of you. Your statuesque called and I obeyed. You stood erect, stirring a stream of sugar into your light brown coffee. Your charm bracelet jingled against the gold chain you always wear, creating a lullaby that drew me in closer and not allowing me to leave. I needed a reason to be beside you, so with a thud I dropped my mug of blackness next to your bubbly warm foam of hazel. The thud pierced you perfection, searing through your pureness and intoxicating you, poking cold holes in your warm glow and raining on your sunshine hair. I felt like I was invading something never meant to be seen by someone as dirty and impure as I. But I was locked in by your aura. If I dare left I’d either die of heartbreak or be haunted for the rest of my life. I grabbed random packets of something sugar like, probably Splenda or Sweet N’ Low or whatever else people put in their coffee nowadays, and began furiously dumping them into the blackness, trying to look casual despite my slightly shaky hands. “Hey,” I said. You had actually looked at me too, which surprised me for some reason. Your green fields bloodshot with clear skies and calm, blue oceans injected me with sunny days. Your eyes drew me in deeper to your warmth. It was a spring warmth, a sunlight-through-the trees warmth, a warmth you could fall asleep to in the day and cozy up by at night. I was drawn in so deep I never wanted to leave. Then you smiled—and even God would have bowed down to that smile. It was a real smile too—not a polite smile, but a deep smile with meaning and interest. It was the most beautiful thing I ever witnessed. Take me around the world and bring me back, and I will still not have found something more angelic than your smile. No words on this earth can describe you, or that smile. Not the highest or scholars or the thickest of dictionaries would ever bear a word with the beauty or elegance or depth to describe you. Only words of heaven and spirit, not contained by physical or human means, could ever be even close to putting a language to you and all you are.
And then you spoke—“Hey.” Already blown away by your fierce winds, the sound of your voice came as music to my ears. It’s sweet chime came like came a flood to a drought, awakening me, engulfing me, enlightening me, awing me. I froze, not in panic, but in shame that I didn’t have anything to present to your majesty. Swirled in awe, I managed a simple word.
I extended my hand even though afraid to touch you, to mess you up. To my surprise, your hand jumped back at mine, sending electric shocks up my arm with your firm handshake. The tingle of your light sweat still lingers on my palm when I think of you.
The conversation almost died. I had no idea what to say to you—I was afraid whatever I said would come out all shaky, or just wrong. But I couldn’t slip away, I couldn’t let myself be left in the cold. So I said the most human, normal, sociable thing I could.
“So, you live around here?”
You giggled, softly, your peachy cheeks rushing rosy. You explained that you lived across the street, with that same smile that changed my life forever. I explained that I had just moved here, not two days ago. At this point, we’d moved from the condiments stand, off to the side a little bit. To my relief, you began talking between small, girl-like sips. I don’t remember exactly what you were talking about—I was distracted by you, by the fact that I was talking to you, by the fact that you had listened, by the fact that you were fucking talking to me. I’d never thought I’d be deemed worthy to be so close to something so amazing. `I still felt dirty in your presence—I felt like I had left a bloodstain handprint on your purity. We are talking about me here, Joey Dayano, the smoky, filthy, reeking me. You can imagine how I felt amongst you. But you let me in, and you didn’t seem at all grossed out. You talked to me, treated me like a human. You talked for a long time, but not long enough. After multiple explanations of why this was such a great place to live and blah, you said you had to “get going”. I almost let you get away which
scared me, but I felt relieved when you handed me a yellow Post-It note folded in two, telling me that you’d like to get together for lunch and maybe show me around a little bit. Awe-struck, I nodded and tried not to completely retard-smile, even though I could feel it breaking out on my face. I looked down at the brownish coffee in my hand—with the sugar, I thought it was disgusting, but now that you were here it was the best cup of coffee ever. I drank all of its disgustingness.
Our relationship came gradually but quickly, like a three-inch black to white grayscale. It started with a date, then cups of tea at my house and cake at yours, and from there we sunk deeper into each other, two souls merging, knowing one another, meeting for the first time every time I saw you. It started with a touch but ended in forever. Our lips first touched outside my apartment, during a rainstorm. Our clothes and hair were soaked to a sopping mess. Even my feet were wet through my Converse and socks. Under the yellow glow of the street lamps, the rain looked sharp as the drops pierced the air, needles of chill tearing through the atmosphere. The wicked winds howled, as though calling the cold from the cracks and crevices of the world and blowing it into our red bitten ears. It was late. The sky was completely black, all the stars failing to burn. The only light provided was the street lamps and the fading bulb outside my building. You were freezing—I recall your shivery vibrations in my soaking arms as you pressed against me for warmth. I held you in my arms, suggesting quietly that we go inside. Then you kissed me, your soft pinkness against my lips, leaving the taste of strawberry Tic-Tacs on my tongue and the roof of my mouth. It was out of the blue, seeing that the goal of the night wasn’t romance, at least not then or from me. But when you kissed me and that ecstasy, that bliss fogged in my breaths and crystallized in my veins, I knew this was right, like fate had sewn it into the patchwork of my life long before I had breath. The end of that kiss was only the beginning; you struck me with lightening as your starry eyes looked into mine afterwards and I could tell where this was going. Next thing we were touching, soft skin against mine, a warm connection between you and I. The stair creaked wearily as you took my hand, ready to get out of your wet clothes. I’m not going to lie: I was scared as fuck. I was afraid to go in head first, so suddenly. I was afraid that if we got too close too soon it would separate us by oceans and light years. But the next morning, awaking to you in my sweat pants and Misfits tee shirt, making coffee and humming sofly. You practically had "she's the one" written on your halo.
I want to be the water wings that save you when you are drowning in an open tab when your judgment is on the brink. I’ll be the phonograph that plays your favorite albums back as you lie down, drifting asleep. I’ll be your winter coat, zipped and buttoned to the chin so you won’t catch a cold. I will fill that empty chasm that lies between you and wholeness. When you are dying, may I be your life. When you are sick, I will heal you. I want to be a part of you.
My love for you goes beyond lust, which never happens to me. Usually it’s the sex or the thrill that keeps my relationships hanging on to that thread they call love nowadays. But with you, I just feel connected. I feel whole.
Okay, my poetic spree just ended. I might actually send this. Goodnight, Sugartits :)
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