Thursday, May 7, 2009

hot pink ribbons

Sometimes I think I've found someone that thinks like me, maybe, if you're Anne of Green Gables, a "kindred spirit", somewhere, writing something, and then they disapear.
Usually they are famous writers, like Don Miller.

I love Don Miller.
While I was reading "Searching for God Knows What" I wondered if he had a girlfriend right now, and then, during "Blue Like Jazz" I wanted to stalk him and get his phone number so I could woo him and marry him.

That was during a state of extreme tiredness and caffeine deprivation, though, so I'm really not that creepy.
Now, when I think about him, I wish there were less people in the world, so maybe he'd actually be interested if I wrote him an email and tried to have a conversation with him. Maybe if there were less people in the world people, even famous people, would listen.

Jon Foreman is another one.
And then there's you.

I'm sure we have alot in common. I'm sure you've stared as far as you could into the darkness straining to see what's at the other side. I'm sure you've done this, both literally and figuratively.
I'm sure you've cried so hard that after you were all done all that would come out of you was more snot and hiccups.
I'm sure you've wondered what the right spelling for the red condiment is. Is it catsup? Or ketchup?
(It's ketchup.)
I'm sure you've stood at the edge of a couch and closed your eyes and jumped- and repoened your eyes at the impact; the shock of hitting the ground, because you know you were meant to fly.
I'm sure you've sat listening to music and moving to the beat when you suddenly felt they were singing about you.

I know these things because I am you, and you are me.
We are members of the same planet; one of a million.
We are fighters and followers. Hopeful and hopeless. Singers and dancers. Smart and dull. And sometimes duller. Maybe all at the same moment.

If there is one truth I want to hold in my hand, it is that I am loved, and you are too (because remember, we are one and the same).
I want to hold it in my hand, and wrap my fingers around it.
Maybe the light coming from it will slide between my closed fist and turn my fingers orangish red. Maybe the liquid from it's heart will seep through my closed hand and pour down my wrist. Maybe then I will understand.

If love was a song, I would sing it to you. I would scream it right into your ear, where I could see the follicles of hair and the tiny bits of earwax stuck to them.
If love was rain, I would dance in it, dragging you with me. The water would make our hair stick to our face, and I would brush it away from yours and kiss you on the forehead. I would let it drench us.
If love was a book, I would read it out loud to you while you laid your head in my lap and dreampt. I would do all the voices, and at all the exciting parts (there are many) I would jump out of my seat and act it out- like charades. Maybe then we would fully grasp it.
If love was a brick, I would build you a sky scraper so tall that it would scrape the sky, and tear at it, and all the lemon drops and gum balls and lollipops and cats and dogs that are hidden up there would pour all over us, and we would stand looking up at the sky with open mouths- breathless.
If love was a promise, I would say it but once, and then draw you a picture that will help you remember that I will not forget. It would be colorful, and it will have dandelion seeds floating in the sunlight.
If love was a tree, I would chain myself to it until the end, and they would have to cut me down to touch it. I would water it, and I would hug it.
If love was a kiss, it would be the most passionate lip lock in history. It would be lustless, but instead full of unspoken electricity traveling between the skin of our lips. It would be a promise.

What is love?

Love is all of the above, and more.

Love is you and me forging ahead, no matter what is in our path. Whether it's lions,
or tigers,
or bears.

I love you. You are worth every single breath that has ever been breathed. Every drop in the ocean.

You are beautiful.

Remember that, and I promise, I won't forget to remember you.

1 comment:

  1. I remember when I found Love for the first time.

    He was an eighteen year old, Love was. He was eighteen... but I was thirteen. Love was there to make me happy, to smile at me, but even more than that, to hold me and to kiss me. But then Love moved on... to another girl... an older girl... a prettier, older girl.

    Then Love become different. He was there, always there. But Love hurt me, he hit me, shoved me, yelled at me... I learned how to make it stop. If I would hold him close, if I would kiss him, he would say that he loved me. So we sat on that bed in the dark room and i held his face in my hands. I massaged his tongue with mine to earn my freedom for the night; wrapped my arms around him, let him touch me, just to hear Love say he wanted to be with me and would never hurt me. It was a never-ending cycle.

    Like the rest of my life.

    We used to stand in that metal building at camp. I was surrounded by people singing... those words. "Abba Father, I love you Daddy..." If asked, they were singing to God. Not I, oh no. I was singing to a man that would never hear. A man whose only heaven would ever be on Earth. He had never even said that he loved me, as far as I could remember...

    But now Love's callin, and I'm outta here.


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