The branch is only a part
A grape fell off the table and you went to get it. I liked the way you got it. I could like the way you got a grape off the floor at that moment. I was that full of love for you.
If I was younger, I would have thought that maybe a new epoch of loving every motion and every room had just fallen upon me. But I knew the moment was fleeting, soon again you would just be getting grapes off floors and, questionably, deciding to eat them and my heart would be stone against your warm humming form, which I now realized as the miracle it was, the miracle all moments were.
You don’t hold onto something like that. You don’t squeeze it. If you are lucky enough to be able to kiss someone during it, you might be transmuted into pure air. But there is no pushing it. There are just the most sincere smiles.
I realized I probably wouldn’t know when it was over… I felt I should write someone something, so that I, like a delirious fever patient who writes notes of instruction during his few lucid moments, might give you a bit of my true self and my true love for you. That we are mostly comatose spiritually did not even bother me during this moment, just so long as I could get this missive out, I think I’ll be able to hand it to you after I’ve been particularly nasty and you will be able to see how my irrations and anger just cloud on top of what is at this moment the most sincere, eternal and unquestioning love. It is blocked from view, it is blocked from my consciousness even.
And you will be able to forgive me. Because I am not a bad person, I just am rarely myself.
