March 18, 2011

My dearest,

These arguments are not a war, our affections are not a battlefield, are not a scene of bloodshed and gore. You are too squeamish anyway (you sleep with the lights on like it’s day). Every hurtful remark sounds a blow, not meant to wound (never) but it does. When we try to justify, our words make it worse. Sometimes silence is better but it’s damning too. Lonely is two people in the same room feeling blue. There is no sun when neither turns to see the other smile. And yet this night passes when you leave it for awhile. We forget our fight (whatever it was, who really cares?) and the ray of light that comes (and it will, I swear) lifts the sadness, erases the pain. We only remember the joys, not the stains. We make our bed and we lie in it gladly. Every finger curled into its partner, holding tight, drawing close. Our breaths form, meet and fade away. Earlier, when our arrows were flying, we awaited one another to end it first, with an “As you please”, a “Suit yourself”, a “Whatever.” It means I don’t wanna argue anymore, I don’t wanna talk. Harsh and hot, a fever, a pair of tempers, a pair of tempests. Fast-forward and now we are next to each other, and our smiles return, our gentle snoring bliss. Once more we believe we will forever walk. This path we’ve made. As you please me, as I suit you, whatever comes, let it come. Ain’t no battle we can’t overcome, ain’t no war that could leave us numb. Not while this furnace burns with our fire. This love, this flame. What remains after desire. This love, our flame.

Yours, ever and always.