The Fine Art of Loving You

To Syed Saleh,

I looked at you when you weren't looking and here is what I saw. Sunlight slanted over you. The most beautiful thing about you, I think, are your hands. The veins in your hands, in your fingers and in your arms stand out persistently, flexing with each movement you make. I trace the blue-green map and think of how they look older than they are, of where those hands have been, the finesse and magic they possess when they cook and the fire they bring to my whole body whenever they touch me. And I think of how they've ended up here, clasped in mine, pressed to my lips, threading through my hair.

I looked at you when you weren't looking and here is what I saw. Your eyes are focused and sharp in their perception, but when you look at me, they soften with love, with laughter, with tenderness. You see so much, even when I am opaque to the world. You see the sobs lodged in my gullet and you will cradle me until my tears are spent. It worries me sometimes though, that you see me with too much faith, in my infallibility, and also in my imperfections.

I looked at you when you weren't looking and here is what I saw. The man who kisses my nose and bears with my childish, mock-tantrums with admirable patience. Who hears me whine and complain and make ridiculously blood-thirsty requests, and yet insists in believing in my goodness. Who sees the strength in me and the weaknesses and loves both. Who will tell me the truth, in all its glorious ugliness, and yet retain the ability to make me smile.

I don't know what will happen to us. I am far too realistic to fully believe that we will survive the next so many months or years, to fully believe that we will, indeed, persist in loving each other and be happy together, but I do know one thing for sure. That when I look at you, I realized that I am in love with a man of integrity, of character, of a pure heart. I am grateful to know you, to have you by my side, and my gratitude runs deeper than you would think.

So we may not be able to be sure about tomorrow, but I can promise you, that today I am entirely yours, my love. Neruda once said "I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride, so I love you because I know no other way." I think of you and I smile.

With all my heart,
Fyy

Straight Up

I will stand by you even if you turn away. If your sky comes crashing down, I will stretch myself across my world to hold it up. If the ground cracks open under your feet, I will lay myself down for you to walk over. For each tear you shed, I would pay an equal measure in blood. I'll fight your demons by your side, darling, and when you stand at the end of this long road, you'll realize what you thought was your shadow was me all along.
Maybe I don't show enough, or show it rightly enough anymore. But my pride bows before you, my heart bows before you. There's no difference in the way I thought of you then and the way I think of you now. Don't doubt my love. I've never been enough before; no matter how hard I tried. I was always flawed, always lacking in one way or the other. Please let me be enough for you.

So I'll tell you how it is. I'll lay out all my cards, straight up. No mush, no games. The fact of the matter is..
If you were ever hurt, I wouldn't live through it.
If something happened to you, I wouldn't survive it.
It's not just that I can't live without you. It's more that I can't see your pain.
I won't say I love you. It's emotion; clouds the issue and takes away from the complete, honest reality of what I said.
But, hey. You know I do love you anyway.

Remember Me

There are tears trapped somewhere within her, forcing their way to the surface. She locks eyes with him, and the pure honesty in his gaze fissures her.
He knows nothing about her. But she unravels in front of him like a thread fraying loose on a rope, stretched to all its capacity until it snaps.
She watches him quietly as he sleeps, taking in every aspect and dimension of his face, the way his skin hollows around his collarbones. She maps his face line by line.

Remember. Remember it all.

She dissolves for him, and he sees her in a way no one has ever seen her. He sees the effort, the essence, the sheer strength of her facade, and he sees each silver bright scar that escape the eyes of others.
In watching her fall apart, he knows what holds her together.

Somehow with him, she is not so angry. Not so fearful. Safe. Complete.
She matches her breath to his, inhale with him, exhale with him, the thud of his heartbeat against her ear. His arms thrown heavily around her, anchoring her. One breath, two breaths. A third, a fourth, a fifth. And that is all it takes to soothe her senseless fear.

This is love and all she knows of it - sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it is wonderful, and sometimes it is strange and mostly it is beyond understanding and overwhelming.
This is the only way she knows how to love - laughing at his silly jokes about her, bringing him ridiculous amounts of food and dessert, wrapping herself over his body when he's asleep, resting her head on his shoulder. Giving him all of herself.

When she looks at her reflection in the mirror and she can see, in her eyes, that part of her which is breaking, breaking, forever breaking. She wishes she could magically heal herself, magically erase his existence. And yet. Keep him with her. Forever.
If her leaving is the only way he will find happiness, she will gladly oblige. Nothing else matters, except his happiness.
If anything happened to him, she wouldn't survive it.

And just for an instant, at some point of his life in the future, he will remember this time, remember her as she is.
But either way.
He must know and remember forever. That she loved him. For however brief, or however long a time. He was stamped indelibly onto her heart. That his name beat in her blood. That she was wholly and irrevocably his. That she, as she is now, is his.

I will never let anyone touch me the way you do. 

Candlelight

I wonder what the curve of your neck tastes like.
If you would shiver when you felt my breath skim over your shoulders.
If your kisses are sweetsaltyhardlightdeepquicklong.
If your fingers would brush over my skin or dig in hard.
If you would make a sound when I moved over you.
If those eyes, those beautiful eyes, would darken with wanting me.
If your muscles would be pulled taut with urgency.
If you would squirm when I bite you again and again and again.
Or would you move slow and soft.
Pliant limbs and satin skin.
You'd glow in candlelight, like a mythical being, mesmerizing.
And when you'd smile, it'd be glorious.
I'd go to sleep rubbing my thumb over your cheekbone, your jaw, the stubble on your face.
Wrapped around you, through you, finding myself on the other side of you.

Nights

Strands of hair escape her untied loose hair and
swing forward to frame her face with a gentle embrace.

Looking right into her eyes, he stretches his hand, and
gently tucks those escaped locks behind her ear.

A tender smile illuminates her face.
She inclined her head, letting the bottom of his hand
caresses her cheek, with a tenderness that almost makes her weep
and plants a grateful kiss on his outstretched wrist.