We talk a lot about love and yet we never seem to know enough about it. We make metaphors and construct rhymes to capture its essence but we never quite get it. It’s easy to write about it because it’s so common.
And yet, in truth, none of us really know exactly what we’re saying. It’s a feeling, not a description. I could tell you that you make me feel like a rain forest, and you wouldn’t have a clue what I meant. Because in that moment, I wanted to tell you that you made me feel full, that every bone in my body vibrated to the rhythm of your voice, that life bloomed beneath every inch of skin you touched– but of course, there is no way to perfectly explain that, you cannot put feelings this big into words.
But I still write poems about you. Everyone still writes them and I can pretend they are all about you but they will never amount to the real thing. I think a lot about words and language and the power that strums within them all and I put a lot of faith into what I say and create on the pages.
But no matter the range I try, from 26 letters to over 50,000 characters, no amount of poetry in any tongue will be able to describe love the way I want it to.
So sometimes, at three in the morning, I put my pen down and go back to bed. Sometimes that is the closest I can get to saying this is love and I am here for it. Sometimes all it takes is being next to you.
Right with you.