But for now, this night, I sit here in the dark, in my room. My bed is beside me, ready for me to relax into it, blanket warm and waiting to wrap around me.
Blanket, holding me through the night. At times I wonder if it will be what I hold back onto through the nights of my life. The one thing to count on, to protect my worry and heart as I sleep...
I don't look for someone to offer me love so much as I do for one who will let me love them with the whole of my heart, with a spirit willing to try, to go all in. Always holding back, in everything.
Some day, a hand will reach out for mine, to let me know that it's okay to go there...okay to let them in. It's a door way that I don't know, but believe exists. I've felt it near, a few times in my life, when I couldn't move toward it...
I feel it near, and the presence of that feeling fills me with wonder. My eyes, I keep them closed, afraid to look and see what I may not be able to enter. Until then, I do embrace each moment as it comes and enjoy the steps I take as I take them. I regret nothing. I want to be spared nothing. I want to enjoy this experience as it comes. I want to remember it all, no matter how it goes.
People speak of love, of that moment of knowing. There are times in our lives when we enter a feeling with an odd thought...the times when we move against logic, and then allow reason to catch us as we hesitate, thinking, afraid.
Some say that unless that moment happens as in poetry, they won't believe that it's love. But what we know of, is that we know nothing until the other shares it with us. That moment, is it in the first instance of all, or in the first instance of the fall? Is it when we see with eyes that are opened those things that were always there but unseen? Is it without any doubt? Or is it with the doubts of reason but the knowing that life is forever changed from the entrance of this person into it? Are we loved without knowing? Do we love unknown?
Yes. We are.
Yes. We do.
Yes, it's always...Love. Songs written, stories told, poetry shared, paintings done...the feelings of the heart, of the mind, but mostly of the spirit.
until then, my bed, my blanket...a book of a house that means so much more than the walls that make it a size, a candle in a window...
I have no answers. Only the questions that haunt and fill us all with hope. with life.
a romantic's heart.
this november night.
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