Around ten months ago (sometime in April; I lost our IM archives when my laptop crashed), two bloggers struck up a friendship.
That friendship grew into something much more, until both of those bloggers realized that they loved one another.
I consider myself a fairly talented wordsmith, but my Achille’s heel is that in expressing the things most important to me, to the person most important to me, I often find myself tongue-tied like a high school freshman summoning the courage to ask out the homecoming queen.
When that happens, I just crib some lines from people who said it better:
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other waythan this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.Pablo Neruda
I love you, Babs. Happy Valentine’s Day.
