You look radiant in the candlelight as I sit here writing these words, stealing a glimpse or two of the woman I love. I watch you smile, I see you playing with your hair, I observe you listening pensively, your chin on your palm, disinterested in what you hear but nodding in acknowledgment nonetheless, then spontaneously breaking into a laugh that places you right back in the thick of it all. I look at your hand, the hand I held a few minutes ago. I remember your touch.
And, as I gaze into you and turn away when your eyes meet mine, as I seek you out through panes of stained glass even though nothing obstructs my view, I find words. I'm at the cusp. I run the back of my finger against the brick wall to pause for a second. I want this to be real. I want my words to be true. I pause for a second second when I recall your name has much to do with the truth. I utter your name in silence, you can't see me grin after, and realise the hour is right. I'm at the cusp. No, we're at the cusp. Between a love immortal and one that never existed. Walking the thin line between hope and its lessness. I know lessness isn't an actual word but there's no reason it shouldn't be. We're on the verge of something extraordinary every single moment we're together, this one included. And in this moment, you and I are standing at the threshold of our futures. I believe they're intertwined, like our fingers are used to being.
Why did I leave that table? Sitting across you, inches apart, your feet occasionally brushing mine, I didn't have to. Conversations are a distraction, especially when the only thing on your mind is the only thing you want to talk about. Instinctively, I stood up, polished the last of my wine and stepped out. It wasn't the cigarette alone that drew me away. There would be another. It wasn't the cigarettes alone. I wanted to numb the noise, blur the whirl, and find some focus. And, I did. I lit up, looked up, and there you were. You and the candle, only. I wondered which one was illuminating the other. You threw me inspiration, I caught it. Each time the thin white haze cleared, I saw you. I see you. The way I've always seen you. You look radiant in the candlelight as I sit here writing these words, stealing a glimpse or two of the woman I love.
And, as I gaze into you and turn away when your eyes meet mine, as I seek you out through panes of stained glass even though nothing obstructs my view, I find words. I'm at the cusp. I run the back of my finger against the brick wall to pause for a second. I want this to be real. I want my words to be true. I pause for a second second when I recall your name has much to do with the truth. I utter your name in silence, you can't see me grin after, and realise the hour is right. I'm at the cusp. No, we're at the cusp. Between a love immortal and one that never existed. Walking the thin line between hope and its lessness. I know lessness isn't an actual word but there's no reason it shouldn't be. We're on the verge of something extraordinary every single moment we're together, this one included. And in this moment, you and I are standing at the threshold of our futures. I believe they're intertwined, like our fingers are used to being.
Why did I leave that table? Sitting across you, inches apart, your feet occasionally brushing mine, I didn't have to. Conversations are a distraction, especially when the only thing on your mind is the only thing you want to talk about. Instinctively, I stood up, polished the last of my wine and stepped out. It wasn't the cigarette alone that drew me away. There would be another. It wasn't the cigarettes alone. I wanted to numb the noise, blur the whirl, and find some focus. And, I did. I lit up, looked up, and there you were. You and the candle, only. I wondered which one was illuminating the other. You threw me inspiration, I caught it. Each time the thin white haze cleared, I saw you. I see you. The way I've always seen you. You look radiant in the candlelight as I sit here writing these words, stealing a glimpse or two of the woman I love.
