your life, which is so close
to my own that I would not know
where to drop the knife of
separation. And what does this have to do
with love, except
— Mary Oliver, Thirst
It is your life. Dreams, giggling in my sleep, painted in hues of you, it is my life too. I am learning how to be bigger than myself, and by bigger I mean doubled; I am learning to be myself through you.
Over and over again I find myself forgiving you for things that make my insides turn. I accept them as our differences. With candor I will tell you that I have never felt so seen by anyone. I enjoy the parallel nature of you and me.
I want to stop writing about love now.