“I still can’t believe it, are you really here? Are you really mine?” I say.
“Yours, forever and always.” He puts his hand on my cheek and smiles the brightest smile ever, with his dimples daring me to resist his existence.
Flashback to our “I do”s, I still can’t believe that I have him. I am overjoyed.
He’s the most beautiful thing I have ever had. He’s the loudest part of my soul. He sings in me. We dance in the rain together at 2 a.m. when nobody witnesses. We smile at each other like there’s no tomorrow. We look into each other’s eyes and we talk for hours, without uttering a single word.
We drown in the ocean of love hidden in our eyes, that only we can behold, perfectly synced as we die in love, as we fall in love all over again, as we caress each other. He makes me stronger. He is my home. I hide my secrets in him, of which I myself am the biggest secret. He knows me like nobody else.
I love how he teases me in public, how he winks at me secretly and I falter, I love how he giggles with the sun shining bright on his face. The rays of light like to touch his outline as much as I do. I love the sound of his laughter. It’s my lullaby.
I love how he smiles at me sadly when we have to part temporarily, and then he calls me just to tell me how much he loves me. I love seeing his bright smile whenever we finally meet again.
I love how his eyes tell me eager tales of his love, lacking patience.
I ache when tears well up inside his eyes on days he doesn’t get enough of me. I ache at the amount of love he hides in his bosom for me.
He knows how I want to disappear in his arms for as long as the world breathes. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows, for he wishes the same. Sometimes I look at this beauty my God has created, lying next to me, sound asleep, and I want to embrace him and never wake up again, for I don’t ever want to face losing him. Other times, I want to stay up just to look at him all night, caressing every twist and curve of his face, memorizing him to a depth no alzheimers can intrude. Whenever I do that, I feel his fingers entwine in mine. I hear him whisper that he loves me.
On days when he’s too tired, he loves falling asleep to the smell of my hair, and I can tell, I’m his comfort. I’m his home.
He’s so beautiful, in all the ways he loves me, and in all the ways he fails to love himself.
I still envision our teenage spirits dancing together, hugging each other on vacant paths and among the scents of roses in blooming gardens. The scent of our love outlasts all Springs. It’s so vibrant and majestic it makes me cry. Sometimes, just looking at him makes me cry, for I know he’s the one and I know I am lucky to have him.
He embraces me and holds my hands whenever I falter, and whenever I am afraid of losing him. In his presence, all my fears run for life.
He becomes me, and I become him. He sings to me, and his voice synchronizes with the scent of his breath, creating a Symphony my heart remembers as a childhood lullaby.
My demons run away with his honey-sweet voice. For he chases my insecurities and makes me whole. And it feels like we’ll never have enough of this love, and we’ll never be tired. It’s almost magic, the way our anger and jealousy fades away just by looking at each other. All he requires is a peck on his forehead, and all I need from him is to hide me in his strong arms and never let go.
We’re two ordinary people for the world. We’re the center of each other’s universe.
Sometimes we talk like babies because we don’t want the memories of a childhood in which we didn’t belong together.
People say they were meant for each other to meet at the right time, we say we were created together in a Symphony, as a pair. He has breathed in me for as long as I have lived, and I have smiled through his dimples ever since they appeared on his face.
We’re not divine, but we’re eternal. We’ll always choose each other, in another life, in heaven, and in all the parallel galaxies.
Whenever he’s angry, I write for him. Whenever I am sad, he sings for me. He likes to place his head on my lap and I love to mess with his perfectly styled hair. I make use of his torso as my pillow and he seizes me just like that, and we create a rhythm of our own.
We’re imperfect pieces of abstract art perfectly synced together. Our love is so pure it beautifies everything I set eyes on. When he smiles, his eyes shine at me with the purest form of light which disperses into glorifying colors. He fills my life with colors. He makes me want to live. He’s my reason for waking up in the morning.
They’re horrible. In them I lose my sanctuary, my protection.
In the mornings, I have to wake up and realize that this was just my regular daily dream.
Somewhere between falling asleep and waking up in the morning, I have a secret life in which I’m truly alive. I fall in love with him everyday even when he’s gone. In the morning, my dream fades away but he doesn’t, for he makes up half of my soul. Our perfect love story vanishes every morning. I look at myself in the mirror, only to fall in love with him all over again, for my eyes contain a shadow revealing his silhouette; even when he’s in the arms of someone else, even when his fingers entwine with someone else’s, even as he plants a ring on her finger believing as strongly that she’s the one as he once believed that I was the one.
I wasn’t his first love, and I couldn’t be his last, but him.. He’s my first and well my last because as I write this, I feel the blood in my heart drenching out. So I smile at him with a hope that he found the love of his life, and I hope she loves him as much as I do.