How can I ever measure my love for you? How can I count the times my heart throb not because of mere existence but of a dire need to touch yours? Will you ever believe? Do you think of me at all? Do I occupy even a negligible space in your occupied heart, in your pensive mind, in your indefinable time?
How certain I am that I Iove you?
I certainly love you because it is a matter of subsistence. Even the pompous embers of fire will wither without the sweet embrace of the wind. You are like the wind. Often you drag me to the uncertainty of your beautiful current, the whirlwinds of your quintessence, and the storms of your perseverance. Sometimes you simply blow my reasons away, the things all I have ever cherished in my shriveled life, leaving me only with the pedestal of your lucidity, so transparent like clairvoyance, so beautiful that the blind can see.
I love you because I am the keeper of your recollections. I wear them like a bright shining armor for everyone to see. Such exquisiteness does not belong to the forgotten graves of a remote desolateness. Each day I celebrate you like how a kid celebrates his seventh birthday. I treasure your smile like how Da Vinci valued Mona Liza’s glorious beam. Utterly effortless, complete poetry.
I wear your scent, fragrance of a thousand elusive butterflies. You are perfume, aroma of January rains and humid nights. They deny me of anything else. You satisfy my soul.
Your scent? They seemed indelible, not bound by time. Your satisfying air I consume when you breathe heavily, when you laugh effortlessly, when you sigh whenever our lips do the talking. You triumph over flowers from the most sacred brooks; you are the reason why the air searches for you, trying to reach you, begging you to give her back her once celebrated whiff, her fragrance. But you breathe in unreserved ecstasy. You are my sweet life itself. Without you is like me running out of air to breathe.
I definitely love you… love you without expectations, hope and redemption. I will love you even if it means my demise, my downright ruin, my eventual negation. For what is the promise of deliverance if it is severed from your soul? What is the purpose of existence if the reason for my heart’s beating cannot be found, lost in the tragic coincidence of life like the luck of definite accidents and fate?
Love cannot deepen without risk. And I am here terribly risking, demanding the impossible, comprehending the surest ambiguity, understanding you, even if you are heaven itself, I will bear you close to me. Risk, yes risk. Risk almost everything; throw away the comfort of retreat, the temptation to recoil.
And yes in the end, love you, love you and love you….maybe not in a way most conventional people would expect a man to be, but nonetheless love you with all I’ve got, with all I can be able to, with all the changes in me. I love you and even time, space, coincidence and fate greatly understands, for this woman each time I see I fall in love more.
Tell me who fool will not risk?