"You have to learn to get up from the table when love is no longer being served." - Nina Simone

My Person

I have this person. She's my best friend.
She's the best person I know.
She keeps me real.
She keeps me laughing.
She keeps me honest.
She keeps my heart
And she keeps it safe.

Sometimes words fail me,
Sometimes I speak thinking that we are one,
and that she knows exactly where my hearts at
cause she's holding it next to hers,
but I don't always remember that she doesn't always
understand me right away, that she can't read my mind,
even though so often I swear she can.
And sometimes, I don't communicate well.

I try, I really do, but I tend to fail.
But what I really want to say here is this.

I love her. She is my rock.
Knowing that she makes the world
a better place just by being in it,
makes every day better than the one before.
I am better because of her.
I trust her. Wholeheartedly.
With everything.
And that without her, everything is a little less bright.
Without her everything is just a little less.

I love her. She is my favourite and bestest. Always.
And that the safety and freedom in knowing that,
the certainty of that, is priceless and precious to me.

The roads aren't clear yet...guess we'll have to dig our way out...

There was something in your eyes that got me thinking,
that made me hold my breath,
that made me want to step right up to the edge
and stare into the abyss.
Almost as if they were daring me to jump...

I watched the way you held your own hand,
Like you were scared to let it go,
not wanting to be alone.
And all I could think was..
I'm here and mine are empty.
I've got room for two more if you need them...
And I'm pretty good at holding things,
Just not as good at letting go...

I kept noticing how you'd move your hair,
attempting to cover your face, like it offered protection.
Your movements, steady, like clockwork,
never forgetting to keep your veil up.
I wondered then who you were hiding from...
Me or you?

When I asked,
You smiled playfully and said both.
But your eyes said something else entirely...
They glistened a little, lowered themselves behind guarded lashes,
and batted away the tears that they were trying to conceal.
And when they lifted to meet mine again,
There was a sharpness to them, the way an actor ready's himself for his lines.
Then I smiled, and they softened, realizing that I wasn't here for the show.

I have no interest in the actor,
I want to meet the writer.
I want to see the original work of art,
the notes on scrap paper and the scrawled words,
scratched out, written and re-written until it breathed life..
into the one I see before me.

There was something in you're eyes that's left me thinking.