In your presence, my knees go weak and I fall like a drunk, liquid bones pooled at your feet, unbraced against any future.
I can do this, as you have no power over me.
You look through my thoughts and the way I try to fill out my daily uniform (even what I was before I came to be), finding no flaw, no lack, no mistake or failure. In your sight I am a diamond and grain of sand becoming fragile glass--all the same, all the same. I am no paragon, but pure virtue, to you.
There is no place I am not allowed to go and nothing I am not allowed to see. I do not have to ration love for fear of spoiling myself or others; I don't have to hesitate to be angry or sad or full of joy. I am permitted to speak the nonsense of absolute conviction, only to throw it back to the sea when evening comes.
You encourage my curiosity and propensity to be my own student, refusing to abandon me even when I lash out of momentary confusions.
Much as I long to hang a garland around your neck and crown you with gold to prove some form of you (making something like a solid memory), you vanish into a moment, a crowd, a zero-point, simply to reveal yourself to me as all things, any thing, no thing, to bring me face-to-face and face-in-face with you. I remember, then that you are my default condition.
You believe nothing I say, but drink up these streams of words the way a great river drinks tiny tributaries. Eventually, I feel them rain softly down, charged and purified by their course through your seasons. How can I not feel like a privileged queen who only lives to serve?
I need prove nothing; I stand before you knowing nothing, and the less I know, the more you show until I cease to find the beginning or end of anything, until it makes no difference whose work of art I am or if the canvas goes unsigned.
You are an impossible lover, and I am grateful, for it makes all love possible. This is the one and only relationship in which all differences are reconciled before they appear, and celebrated long after they are gone.
I am content to be your latent Venus, sleeping patiently inside the smooth, solid marble of forever that you are, needing no hammer or chisel to bring me to light, no evidence that I exist within your heart. The cool, full span is perfect, the heated emptiness perfect, also. Ignorance of my beauty and the effort to unveil it are two notes of the same silent song.
All the music, poems and stories come and go; all the water and weathering, dream and illusion in magnificent abundance. Is it any wonder that you are my deity, that I fall in mirth, astonishment, grief and love?
I write to you, to me, to us, from our reasonless home in the pointless realm, so that space is available for this joy...and I see, delighted, that you are here, already!