Still glad it was you
I want to be in love, not the shine but the ache,
the fever that keeps me awake for your sake.
The kind of love that laughs when a bird flies too slow,
lost from its flock for a second, then finds where to go.
I want to laugh at a marker that’s bleeding out dry,
or grab the wrong colour, red instead of pink, and cry.
Then laugh even harder until my lungs start to burn,
because with you every mistake is a lesson to learn.
I want the kind of laughter that doubles me over in pain,
where my stomach cramps up and I’m breathless again.
I want you to need me like paper needs glue,
like an envelope useless unless sealed by you.
I want you to see me past all that I hate,
past the mirror reflections I wish I could break.
I want you to love me when I don’t feel kind,
when the worst parts of me are loud in my mind.
I want to dance late at night with our hands intertwined,
slow songs in the dark, leaving daylight behind.
Your mouth at my ear, barely whispering through,
“I’m still so beyond glad it was always you.”
I want the slow burn, not the spark that explodes,
the love that stays quiet but steadily grows.
Not movie perfection, but choosing to stay,
even when life tries to pull us away.
I want to wake up beside you, hair wild, eyes tired,
sharing secrets before the coffee’s acquired.
To know you’re my shelter, my safest confide,
the place where I go when I’ve nowhere to hide.
I want intimacy built from the smallest of things,
a look held too long, a finger that rings
slow circles on skin like it’s tracing a map,
memorizing me softly, no need to unwrap.
I want years stacked heavy, I want time on our face,
laugh lines and silence that still feels like grace.
Rocking in chairs on a worn wooden porch,
loving like no one else is a torch.
I want to forget how the world ever felt,
before loving you rearranged how I dealt
with fear, with doubt, with the person I was,
before you made meaning out of “because.”
I don’t want to tire of your face or your name,
seeing you daily but feeling the same.
Like a diamond ignored in the dirt underfoot,
or a ruby in water, still rare, still absolutely shut.
I want you to laugh at my cracks and my seams,
tell me you love me because of these things.
To smile like you know, without doubt or above, there’s nothing more worthy of you than my love.
And if I’ve said it wrong, or too quiet, or thin,
or if you assumed I don’t mean what I’m for all in,
my love isn’t words overheard,
to be loved is to be seen, and I see you, every word.
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