To Create. To Live

This Time it was Trauma

I love when he plays the piano in the theater
I love that I always know what he's playing
I love that even across the room I can hear him singing quietly
I love that this started with him and an implicit demand for proof
I love that his taste grows with mine, that I can sing along just as quietly and just as far away
I love how easy his hands move, nimble, deft
I love how clear his voice is
I love how warm his laugh makes me feel
I love his outrageously long legs
I love how I have to look away quick when he smiles at me
I love how committed he is to every joke
I love the way he always humors me
I love that he jumps into everything without question
I love the people he surrounds himself with
I love being near him

I hate that I can never tell him any of this