When I allow myself to think of you I feel this
bubble in my chest, this
full, rich, mass of heat and light
and sadness.
People like you are scarcely
met; those as magnificent are always lined
with paralleled
passion
and pain, like an ancient painting that is
even more exquisite
from having survived its hostile history
than the beautiful image
it displays
to the world.
Why did I meet you? Because life
is not meant
to be lived in scheduled
increments, predicted and
segmented into proper slots of time.
There is value
in routine, but the moments
of true meaning
are the ones during which you derail from what is expected
and acknowledge
what is not.
You remind me
of everything that will never
make sense
but always
feels right.
Just by being you,
the savory subtleties of life
propel and pounce and land on others
like shiny eager insects,
and I love it
when they bite.
