When you first found me,
I was haphazardly
gluing the pieces of myself back together.
Like a toddler
frantically trying
to mend her favorite toy,
having no idea
where to start
or if it could be done.
When you first found me,
a broken-winged bird,
you made me believe
that I could fly again
and that I would fly higher than ever.
I once thought love was flowers,
heart-shaped boxes and chocolates,
dinner dates and champagne.
I thought it was black ties and lingerie,
full moons and morning coffee,
and I love you’s forever.
Until I found you.
Love is a deep sigh in the night,
cold toes and legs sticky from sweat,
elbows in the ribs and hands in my face.
Love is giant pairs of socks on the floor
and beard-trimmings in the sink;
reminders that you were here.
Love is using your pillow
when you leave early for work,
calling you when I have nothing to say,
wishing you where there.
Love is tears and heartache,
yelling insults, slamming doors,
and I hate you’s.
Love is I’m sorry.
No words
No gifts
No material item
can take the place of that feeling
when you have someone who believes that you will soar,
someone who is more than the wind beneath wings,
but a propeller pushing you forward faster than you ever dreamed to go.
Love is not a deed, an action, or an emotion.
Love is a lifetime experience with a person,
a person who helps you be you.
