Just a year ago,
our hearts didn't sit
side by side
as they do now:
beating as one.
You were only
a stray butterfly
in my peripheral.
Just a year ago,
I was hurting from
something I thought
was love.
But love shouldn't prick you
continuously.
Love shouldn't be tears of sadness,
thinking I'd forever be
in exile.
Love shouldn't be a cold uncertainty not knowing
if you're truly wanted.
The truth was,
I didn't want anything from you.
I was too jaded, too finished
with love.
Yet,
as completely different as we are,
We found it.
I found
safety,
hope,
and joy;
I'm learning to live.
I'm trying to find the words,
(which I usually pull out gracefully from my pen),
but all I can think of is one day.
That one day, we laid on your bed
at your mom's.
I just came from work.
And I cried and cried,
and sobbed
because I was hurting so much.
Your arms held me that whole afternoon,
and even in the dark,
when I cried again.
That's when the world changed
and the earth shook,
and even in the dark
there was the smallest
flame.
I didn't know then that it would be love.
Only, that I found something
I'd been missing.
As you take another trip around the sun,
I'd like to think the stars are envious,
knowing that our love will outshine them
for millennia to come.
I love you.
