Tuesday, January 06, 2009

The Ones We Love

She is a mystery. I need to know why I love her, why she loves me, what makes her a genius, whether any of it can rub off on me.

Oh, it's hard to choose your loves, but then, then there's that redheaded preacher's daughter running wild through my mind at sunrise, and I told her, see, see Beth, Elizabeth Raiguel, fox to fox, I think you're a species above the average straight haired masses.

We go places. We do things. We're so fairy tale it makes people sick.

My first, my last, my everything.

She's the mist on my mountains. When she smiles she's the sun in the sky. She's really good, she my woman.

She knows me inside out, she feels the slightest change of my mood.

She is so many parts of me and I love her very much.

She's white when I'm black. She's black when I'm white. The two of us makes grey. She'll always be my dream of colours. My naked dance on the kitchen table. An infinite chance for a dissolved ego. A fragile life.

Because somehow we speak the same language.

I'm not good with words and feelings. I hope that my silence can explain what I feel about him.

When I saw her at first sight it seemed like a sound of a striking match.

She and I joke that we are husband and wife. We go on adventures and plan trips to far away places we may never see. Her energy is inspiring and often she makes me laugh so hard that I cry. She is quite special, that wife of mine.

The one I love is just the one who loves me no matter what. That's her, my only one.

Because we can draw a map to get lost.

He is one million good things and then some.

He is the cup from which I drink.

He is the best guy on this planet. He is quirky and smart and forward thinking and old-fashioned. My strongest support. The reason I want to do good things in the world.

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