well no one on earth would ever have thought and by that i mean the clouds that i look at and the sun that rests upon your skin means we are and we will be, not just someday but on that day. you are my gift, i am your present day, we are each other’s tomorrow. the way i see myself today, with all this verve and light, it is as if you graced me each morning with your words since the skies opened up us. but you did, i wandered, you found yourself and us and never shall i be uncovered again. there is just me in front of you and i look at myself in a way that is familar but ancient and deep within my blood – you, my veins and my air and my freckles that sit more on one side than the other. the way i bend my back over you while the lights go speeding by, the way i smile to myself as i think of the water rushing past. rushing over. rushing to. i am in the grass again, staring at spiders and ladybugs and i am pure – yet there, there you are still, looking me the same way you do when i am behind the lens or across the room or revealing myself to you in other ways. you. how you see, how i am seen, as i’ve said for a thousand hours and under each bridge. every day i trip and stumble and stand and grace this earth as the neverending story that you made of us. each day i reveal, each day you are honest. and we sit, and i look over at you, and let you take my hand.
If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I. ~Michel de Montaigne