Blackbird

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.

 

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