I Love You Too
(In response to the poem you gave me)
I didn't want to open it at first,
the red-enveloped parcel you'd given me.
I let it sit in my bag as my arms went numb and my fingers stopped working.
I remember having to take off my jacket,
it was getting too warm in the room full of silent people I sat in.
When I finally found the courage,
there was no waiting.
The first time I read it through,
I read it quickly
only allowing blood to rush to my face and not feelings to comprehend.
The second time, though,
I read slowly and painstakingly,
trying to analyze what it made me feel.
All I could think,
you had said, written, that it was a poem about me,
but I couldn't accept these lovely stories as me.
More than half of my thoughts consisted of the question
where were the flaws.
You hadn't included most of them.
All I could think,
I'm made up of flaws.
I became almost dizzy,
blood was rushing too fast and added to the feeling of giddiness,
I began to worry.
You were going to ask what I thought about the piece you'd written for me.
About me.
How could I possibly explain the conglomerations of emotions and thoughts tumbling around inside my head.
I couldn't even organize them, myself.
There was unconditional love and disbelief and flattery and joy and guilt and the need to return something to you.
The list continued.
The list continued until it became an unrecognizable,
an indistinguishable lump of words.
You poured feeling and passion into what you had written,
and when you asked what I'd thought,
all i could respond with was
good, it was good.
It was good, nobody could say anything otherwise.
I became stupid with a swollen tongue.
I wanted to tell you
that I love her too.
I wanted to bend down and kiss you.
But I couldn't get myself to do it.
And now I'm writing this,
to beat myself up for it.
Or to explain myself.
Or to try to begin to understand what I felt,
because I still haven't a clue.
But at least I do know this:
if you were to ask me how much I loved you,
to say I love you to the moon and back
would feel like a shortcut.
