October 5, 2009

My dearest,

I remember when I met you. No stars hung in mid-air nor into your eyes did I stare. No fanfare, confetti or balloons. No falling under the spell of your moon. Romance isn’t always a Belinda Carlisle song.

Love can’t move mountains. Love can’t part the seas. Love doesn’t mean I’m the one for you nor you for me.

Sometimes when I am alone without you, I wonder if the grass is not greener. The other side, the other life, there are always fields of gold for willing seekers. There is honey and molasses and ambrosia untasted; surely to abstain and to forsake would be to waste?

There is always more.

I can have everyone. I can have anyone. But I don’t want to move mountains; I want to always climb your sweet hills. I don’t want to part the seas, not when your river runs through me still. The grass may be greener, but truth be told, we all know there are no fields of gold. That’s alright though.

Who cares about grass or glitter when I have you in my arms to hold?

Yours, ever and always.