Colors are words we can't write without metaphors. Two-bitpoet. You are magnificent.
***
Emi is in Maine right now, swelling, recovering from having her wisdom teeth out this morning. I miss her.
We have been together almost ten months. Ten months of discovering, of learning how to share your life...your future...your dreams with someone so very different from you but complimentary to you. Some mornings, I wake up thinking that I can't do this--that I can't share my life with someone else. I feel trapped, confined, buried in regulation, in someone else's rituals.
But she has become my life. Determinedly. Im-perfectly, perfectly. Completely.
I sit here, in this empty apartment, where I've craved solitude in waves unbearable, and I wish her here with my breath.
My life forms before me, around me, in patterns I can only barely decipher.
There are regrets. There is longing.
But there is also happiness and warmth and a completeness still unfamiliar to me (Happiness is Greek to me).
My muse exists, no matter the distance.
And my love, my love surrounds me, envelopes me, is me.