You ask me many questions of the same nature.
Repeatedly you inquire these small little quips,
As if they fully occupy your mind whenever there's nothing else to fill the silence.
You ask me,
"Would you still love me if I liked ham on my pizza?
Would you still love me if my favorite football team was up against yours?
Would you still love me if I lost the ability to see?
Would you still love me if I was a Republican?
Would you still love me if I was 1 inch tall?
Only just tall enough to not get lost in your carpet?
Would you love me if I lost my voice permanently?
If I never sang you to sleep ever again?
Would you love me if I was a worm?
A slimy, helpless little worm?
Who's covered in shit and dirt and grime?
Who doesn't even have any eyes?
Would you love me if I had cancer?
Would you love me if I lost all my hair?
Would you love me if I forgot your name?
Would you love me if you forgot mine?
Would you still love me if I was a leaf?
If any small breeze could carry me away?
If you stepped on me and I just fell apart, or worse,
If you stepped on me and there was no sound?"
Would you still love me?
You always ask.
Your busy mind's cacophony momentarily enters mine and I'm thrust into a tomorrow where everything's changed.
Everything except one thing.
If you like ham on your pizza, that's okay because I like pineapple on mine.
I don't have any favorite football team,
I'd love to leave you notes in braille,
And I've always loved friendly political debate
If you were an inch tall I'd keep you in my pocket,
Safe from the ants and the dirt on the ground
If I was cursed to never hear you sing to me again,
I'd learn to sing us both to sleep instead.
If you were a worm, no matter how slimy or small,
Id find you the best compostable soil to sleep in,
Id fill your pot with your favorite color of tulips,
And I'd check on you every single day
If you got cancer and lost all your hair,
I'd sell my soul to make your passing comfortable.
And if we forgot each others' name,
What a beautiful fate to fall in love all over again.
If you were a leaf that would crunch in the fall,
I'd grind you up and use you for scrapbook confetti
And if you were a soft leaf who made no sound,
Id press you inside a book and admire your beautiful intricate veins and spots.
In every single one of these scenarios you propose to me, the thing that remains constant is:
It's you.
And you, are the feeling I get when I look at you, the same feeling I've always gotten.
One that couldn't be washed away with decades of time, one that no memory wipe could erase.
The feeling of connection and love and desire I feel for not your body, not your voice, but your soul.
I love you in every form, be it worm, leaf, or Republican.
Yes my love.
In every single tomorrow, I love you, still.
