Valentine’s Day, Friday February 14, 2020

I began to wonder if anything was even real.
Are you real?
Am I?
Or, are these just words formed in a sentence to fit into a trained opinion of how life is supposed to be?
Or is this just how things go here?
Sometimes, I feel like I’m just a passenger in this place, down here on a circulating conveyor belt, which I call Project Earth.

I used to think one year was nothing more than another trip around the sun, which it is, in fact, another trip around the sun. And so be it.
A lot happens in that trip.

At a younger age, I started to wonder about this thing we call love. I know what the word means; to love, to be passionate, tender, to feel for, to want more, to yearn or to have a deep affection for.
Is this love?
Or is it more?
Is it more than more?
Is love more than anything we can define or describe?
Because if it is, how could we define such an indefinable thing with one four letter word? Love

I started to wonder if love was real or just elusive. Does love have to hurt? Or more to the point, does everything have to hurt before it heals? Say like, a broken heart for example, or the sting of a broken dream, why? 
Oh, and yes, I’ve always had dreams. I’ve always had my share of fantasy. I have desires that stretch back for decades now.

(Don’t we all?)

I never knew what it meant to feel for someone; to want them, or more importantly, to need them the same as I need air or food because to me they would be my air to breathe and for me, they would be the food to feed my soul
I never knew what it meant to walk away and still smell her love on my clothes, or better yet, to walk away and still need her or want her even more —to dream, to consider her as part of me, to having two worlds become one, because in my best estimation, truly loving someone means to become one; one love, one life, together forever, so help me.
This is the dream; to feel someone even when they are not in the room; to hear their heart and know their warmth which is always changing but never wavering.

Isn’t this love?
Or still, is it more?

I was always lost with this subject. Maybe I was lost for other reasons. Maybe I was lost because I was afraid to need someone so much that I would be nothing else but vulnerable.
Maybe I was afraid because I was frightened to be pulverized by something so unchangeable, yet, at the same time, everything about me would change as soon as she walked into the room.

Was lust the same as love? Or, is  love the same as lust?
Or is love simply another way of lust’s undying need to be wanted, to be desired, and at the same time, to be returned in an equally mutual way (forever.)

I used to look around and wonder. 
Is this it?
Is that ir?
Is it her? 
Could it be?

I could trace the outline of my dream. I could imagine her curves from the the tips of her toes, all the way up to her calves and thighs, in through her hips, up across her stomach, through her chest, up to her neck and then to her chin, to her lips, her nose, her ears, and then to her eyes, or better yet, the window of her soul.
I could only imagine the feel of her skin, which, as I explain this, I can feel the hairs on my arm standing up to cheer. I can feel the center of my being, aroused, because of her and the feel of her body against mine.

I would see people and wonder if the problem was me.
Maybe it was.
Maybe it wasn’t the girl. Maybe it was me and there was something only slightly off-center about me, which made me odd, or worse, unlovable.
Was it me or was love so untouchable and elusive that I was always in the chase for something I had yet to understand?

I would try though because, “What if it’s her?”
What if the girl I spoke with was the only chance I had at being happy?
Or, better yet, what if this were my only chance to be, what’s the word? Oh yeah, “Normal?”
What if she is the love of my life and she passed by, never to cross my path again? What should I do then?

I was so alone for such a long time. I was alone in crowds. I was alone with my thoughts. I was alone in the wrong relationships because I tried to pretend they were the right ones.

I used to see others, walking hand in hand, and I wondered what it would feel like to be them.
I wondered if things like this would last forever, or, do people just use the word, “Forever,” and hope that it sticks.

Meanwhile, deep down and in all honesty, I have always wanted this. I have always wanted to be touched in a way that no one else could touch me.
I have always wanted to look into her eyes and feel nothing less than mesmerized, each day, more and more, from this day forward, from now until death do us part.

I think there is a science to this.
I really do.
There has to be.

I think there is this cosmic, chemical, connection that instinctually brings us together. This draws us to one another to the point where just a simple glance or a momentary glimpse, and that’s all it takes —we’re hooked, addicted, taken or smitten, and I swear with all my heart and with all my soul, nothing else in the world could ever make me feel this way.
I believed without seeing, which is another word for faith. But then one day, finally, I saw her, which in other words is what I call fate.

This is all true. All of it.
I know it is because I can remember the very first time I saw her. I knew she would always be my one true love. 

I couldn’t move at first.
All I could do was watch. All I could do is look at her, as if she were a picture; as if she were to twirl in my mind, and then suddenly, everything that happened to me before that moment had finally fallen into place. 

There was no before. There was no before her or after. No, there was only her. Always her, and there could never be anyone else but her, for this life or longer, so help me God. 

I knew the moment I saw her. I knew the moment I saw her, there would be something about this moment that changed the rest of my life. I knew I had to move forward, towards her, otherwise, I would never move anywhere for the rest of my life because she was my life. Everything I have seen and lived through prepared me for this.

You ask me if love is real?
Yes. I say it is.

I say love is timeless and shapeless and both hopeless and hopeful. I say love is the feel of her skin and the way she looks at me.
I say love is lust that continues to grow —always creating an urge for me to seek her out—always wanting her, even more, and never withering like a beaten candle blown out from the gust of a cold night,

If I am me or anything that I want to be, deep down, I know I am only this because of her. If I am anything, I am only something because I belong to her. I am lovesick. I am hopeless. I am literally dismissive of the rest of the world because she is my world.
There is no rest of the world. I know this,
I know this deep to my core.
She has always been my world and she will always be my world, because after all, I spent my entire lifetime trying to find her

—or should I say trying to find you, my love.

I can say this with all my heart. I could never love you less; only more. 

And this right here —this is everything I have, written down on a sheet of paper. This is all that I have, my strengths and weakness.
This is all that I own. This is everything to me. And I offer it all to you, to have and to hold, to nurture and to cherish. I give this to you, which is everything I have because without you, I have nothing.

I love you

Happy Valentine’s Day