“I don’t know if anyone could ever love me,” you say.

“Don’t you see how I worship you?” I scream with my thoughts, but you can’t hear me anyway. I debate, asking you, whispering in your ear.

Instead, I am silent, unsure of how to comfort you. I don’t want to tell you that I love you, not yet.

So I close my eyes and trace my fingers along the lines of your jaw, cheeks, nose, and eyebrows.

I touch you like one would handle a porcelain teacup. You could break if I don’t think about keeping my fingers light as I follow the fine craftsmanship all across your back.

I don’t tell you the words of praise and admiration I trace into your back as you crane into my touch. The body absorbs what the mind cannot fathom.

I place kisses on your belly, the back of your leg, and the places that are never loved. When I love, I want to love all of you truly.

“No one has ever touched me like this, so softly,” you say, and right then I want to burst into tears. How dare they! How dare they not treat you like artisan bread, like a mural in an alleyway, like freshly molded pottery before it enters the kiln.

What a crime it is that you have never known what it is like to be held for the sake of holding, to know touch that has no fine print and no malice.

You quiver and shake when I touch you like the novelty of this feeling is too much. I make a joke about how sensitive you are, so maybe for a moment, the reality of why is just a joke instead of reality. And for a moment, you can cope.

You don’t like being looked at in these intimate moments, so I think about how I would describe your eyes in a poem instead. I’ve had ample opportunities for this, and I have come up with the following:

The sky with just the right amount of clouds, the kind of day with a light breeze that makes you want to pick blueberries.

The first drop of rain. It always seems to land on your face, like a kiss from Mother Nature.

The newest flower on an orchid plant, only a bud the day before. It is the same color you want at our wedding. It feels like such a far-off thing to me, a vague concept, but to you, it feels like the Save the Dates have just been sent in the mail.

The rest are a bit much.

—

I remember to massage your toes, the ball of your foot, the arch, the heel. You don't like feet, including your own foot, but I am here to love the parts of yourself that you can't love.

I pray to you in my thoughts that you can feel my love through my thumbs rubbing healing circles into your tense shoulders. That somehow, my actions will help you remember what a divine being you are, a god with amnesia.

What are you the god of? I think, maybe, that you are the god of moments. Humorous glances from across an aisle, Dutch ovens, singing too loud on night car rides, vicious tickle fights that end in sweet kisses, interrupting each other at work, finishing each other's thoughts and sentences, taking my glasses off when I fall asleep with them on, tiny routines that are barely considered routines but are done almost without thinking all the same.

I, for the first time, feel seen by a deity. There is no higher power, no sin. There is no wrong. There is only the reverence I give to you, that is expelled by every cell in my body, that consumes every waking thought.

There is you, and there is me. There is us. And that is enough.

Don't you know I worship you?

I wish adults still understood what it was like to be our age because yes, I'm going through phases and relationships and change and I smell disgusting and I am going through depression and I am transgender and discovering what that means and learning what it means to be a person, something that some people never learn. I don't understand why the people who seem to care about me aren't the same people I want to visit constantly. I don't understand the concept of 'blood is thicker than water' when the full phrase is 'the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb' and why adults use this to their advantage. It's not unhealthy to want to have a social life and go hang out with people all the time. These are the same adults that say I don't get out much and need to hang out with people more often on the occasion that I'm not doing anything. The same adults that have convinced me that I need to go to college and simultaneously have fifty-plus years of experience for a decent paying company to employ me. The same adults who have given me such a crippling anxiety and fear of the unknown that I've cried multiple times over homework thinking that not being able to understand quadratic equations will be my undoing, that there's no way I'm going to college now. I am so terrified to not go to college, yet I find myself unable to think of what exactly I want to do. Rather than letting me figure it out eventually, I am being rushed into roles that I don't even understand yet. I am being scared shitless over things that I don't need to worry about for years. I am being convinced not to legally change my name until after college because otherwise my boomer aunt and uncle won't pay my college funds. It feels like I'm being forced back into the closet, forced into a career that I may or may not enjoy doing for the rest of my life, forced into both solitude and society according to my parent's terms, forced into something I don't understand. This is not consensual. This is far from okay.

I don't understand how someone so strong
Could think they are so weak
When they deal with way more bull
Than anyone should ever deal with.

I don't understand how someone that handsome
Could think they are that much of an abomination
When they have hated themselves way more
Than anyone should be hated, particularly him.

I don't understand how someone so amazing
Ended up so strong
So self-loathing
So anxious
So depressed
So misplaced
So disadvantaged.

I'm obsessed with your smile
Your face contorts upwards and
All of the pain and worry washes away
From your eyes and they're so full of love
I worry you love me too much
'Cause I don't know if I can return love of
The same quality that you give so eagerly
To a lowly pauper like me.

Since the dawn of time,
Man has striven to understand
Why we exist and
How we were created.
We have formulated various
Answers to these burning questions
That are scorched in the minds of men.
An omniscient creator who lives up above,
Powerful beings that run everything from
Weather to fire to death to doors;
An explosion that created all that is known.
It is hard for men to comprehend something other than what
Has been taught to them;
Even those who believe in near indistinguishable concepts
Argue about the little details rather than banding together.
It is the duty of a government to allow this
Despite the unpalatable aspect of it.
We must allow individuals to have their own teachings;
Personal attachments must not come in the way of equality.
We must turn to our neighbors and voice,
"I do not agree with a word you say,
But I will defend to the death
Your right to say it."
We must embrace each other like distant relatives,
We must come together when the sun goes down,
Until dawn comes once more.

The weight of your lover as you're cuddling,
Their usually tense body so relaxed and
comforting, the slight pressure of them on
You makes you feel so safe.
The almost subconscious movement of your
Fingers as you run them through your lover's hair,
The pleasant texture of soft hair
And the occasional appreciative groan
Keeps you from stopping.
The sound of their quiet breathing is
Slow and steady, and you,
Being half awake, mimic their
Breathing pattern as best you can to try and
Sync with them as their chest
Rises and falls against your body.
The full feeling of being completely warm
Makes you never want to move from
This exact position for a long time,
It's addicting.

I love you.

I love you more than I do rainy days
Because rainy days aren't as much fun
When I don't get the pleasure of cuddling you.

I love you more than I do chocolate
Because no amount of sugar amounts
To the amount of sweet you are.

I love you more than I do reading
Because your words seem to unravel me
Much more than words on paper.

I love you more than I do writing
Because without you, I wouldn't have
As much inspiration to write with.

I love you more like Sleepy loves sleeping
Because you get quite sappy
When I keep you up late enough.

I love you like a bee loves flowers
Because without you, my life wouldn't be
Nearly As colorful.

I love you like a child loves blankets
Because you give me comfort,
Warmth, and security.

I love you like a comedian loves laughter
Because you help me know that I'm wanted
And worthy of your time.

My love for you runs deep,
Like the roots of the holm tree
We'll become.