Lullabies

Here are the things I want for you.
I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence.
I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. I don’t know if what we had was love, but if it wasn’t, I hope never to fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it.
I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will.

Hands are no longer hands. They are caresses. Mouths are no longer mouths. They are kisses. My name is no longer a name, it is a call. And love is no longer love—love is you.

“There is only one fish I want to catch and so, no other holds my interest.”

There once was a song
you reminded her of—
she no longer longs,
yet she still loves.

“Where are you?” She asked. “I have been searching all my life.”
“Stop looking for me,” Love replied, “and I will find you.”

How the wind howls as the sea whispers, I miss you.
Come back to me.

Always seeking,
each moment fleeting;
this is where
my soul will rest.

With you I’ve fulfilled,
our destined meeting;
my tired hand,
against your chest.

This is the heart,
that keeps mine beating—
these are the eyes
that mine know best.

Tsunamis

Be careful about giving your heart too quickly, I was told.
Boys only have one thing on their minds, they cautioned.
I don’t know if he truly loves me—how can I be sure? I can’t say with any conviction that he won’t break my heart—but how could I have stopped him from taking what was already his?
He swept in like a tsunami, wave after wave, and I didn’t stand a chance. All those warnings, all the things they tried to prepare me for—lost in an instant—to the enormity of what I felt.

Minefield

If you know a boy with eyes of quiet wonderment, who smiles often and speaks rarely—someone who pays the same respect to words as he would a minefield—who thinks deeply and is endearingly sad—please do not give your heart to him. Even when he gently pleads with you—or clutches your hand with grave earnest—no matter how he tries to convince you, please turn him away. You don’t know him like I know him. You can’t love him like I do.

Stop looking for me,” Love replied, “and I will find you.”