Who was I before we first
met? I wonder that sometimes. Probably a series of grunts and untamed
expressions, bottled-up frustrations, thoughts rising and bubbling underneath
my tongue unable to escape the confines of my baby mouth. And then, you introduced yourself to my lips, and you tasted richer
than mother’s milk, than candy cigarettes and sweet red licorice. I loved you
more than I loved chocolate. That’s when I knew for sure that you were
something special and I wanted more of you. I wanted to learn everything there
was to know about you. I wanted to say you, eloquently. I wanted to spell you,
perfectly. I wanted to write you, creatively.
Its beautiful how you are
everywhere more than I am. In the beats I bop to, the lyrics I cry to. You are
deep in the love I express and you never seem to get jealous, I mean—not like I
do sometimes. When someone that doesn’t crave you like I do, adore you and
respect you—oh boy, I get jealous. Double-negatives, boring monosyllabic texts
dumb down the beauty of your language. You are meant for so much more like;
defining the heat of the sun or the crunch of a fallen leaf. You are the chill
in the icicle sticking to the tip of my tongue. You are the real unsung.
Did you know that
sometimes I foolishly doubted your authority? Yet, even when I pushed you out
of my thoughts, you never left me. I remember being misunderstood, feared and
damn near deaf and crazy from the constant hum-drum of boring counting machines,
pounding my head to stone on glass pavements. And then, you appeared to me in that dream and said that it was
okay to be me—I was a tree. You are the truth and I became your proud roots gorging
on your power—blossoming under your light. The abundance of your depth amazes
me and I promise to obey your integrity.
You are the meaning of life. And when I
die, when I’ve whispered with my last breath: goodbye on a fragrant gentle
breeze, I will find peace in knowing that that I left the world with a timeless
gift that only you could give to me—my words—my love.