This is for my sweetheart.
It always amazes me that after the things I’ve gone through, I can still find a place in my black and smoking heart to keep him. I feel so mangled sometimes, like a crushed china plate, or a grimy, cobwebbed window, or a hopeless love song lost at sea. I’m drifting through life, barely breathing, hardly speaking, and my anchors to the world slip constantly through my cold fingers. And I’m alone, all alone, so alone and utterly lonely.
And he, he is warm laughter ringing through white noise. He is crinkly, blue trapezoid eyes and shy smiles and sunbeam eyelashes. He is fingers dancing over piano keys and knowing how to waltz and listening listening listening. He is calling me a sassbox; he is reminding me softly, “Good things are worth waiting for.” He is spastic dance-parties and homemade German pancakes and inviting me to join the friend group. And he, he is looking at the stars and thinking about me. He, he, is thinking about me.
If we don’t work out, if we’re never really together, if it just can’t be, then I will be grateful for that breathtaking boy who made me feel like I could be whole again. Because love isn’t just selfies and diamonds and babies and taxes, although those pieces have their place.
Love, I think, is changing people from the inside out, making them better. And I will always love my querido, if only for the way he taught me to love myself.