I feel like all of this, and you and I and forever is a transcendence that could never be explicated with words. What I’m trying to say is that whenever I try to describe what it feels like to be close to you all I can feel is this swelling within me. And I never thought we were ordinary. No, I knew from the moment I set my eyes on you that I had known you long ago. I’m going to tell you what it was like before you knew me. How I think the people who say you don’t need another person to feel whole never felt the kind of loneliness that constricted me. How all I wanted was to be alone, but it never felt right, like Bukowski said in all the poems. And I tried to cover up the emptiness. I swallowed the sadness with bitter cups of coffee, filled my lungs with long drags of cigarettes that could never satiate me. And good God, the longing within me. I felt like a battered man in the Sahara dying of thirst. I kept looking at the trees for an answer, I kept spilling out long works of prose, trying to rid myself of this demon that ate away at me like fire on paper. And I never knew what he was. The cynics are wrong when they swear you cannot die from lack of love. I thought I needed someone. I kept looking in all the wrong places, I kept kissing the wrong ones, I swore the gods ****** up somehow, because anyone that met me drowned. And I tried to hide it, I did. I tried to mimic others and appear like a shallow river. But I wavered. I overflowed, I flooded the streets, like a split open dam, I felt my heart bleed. I gave up on the transcendental part of me and wrote it off that I was not meant to be here. See, the trouble was I thought I needed someone; but I needed you. And I’m baffled how the world keeps turning, relentless, when you and I are transcendent. And I wonder if you feel it, too. How skin on skin isn’t enough, how I feel alive when you breathe into my mouth, and perhaps I’ve been reading too much Plato, how he talks about separated souls and how they ache to be conjoined with one another. And I do. I know this wasn’t the first lifetime I was meant for you. How the nostalgia that would seep into my skin like poison is part of another eternity. And who knows what we were. Maybe we were sparrows moving against the wind. Maybe this is what happens when a writer becomes enamored, but I know I never knew forever until I felt you all over me, sharing the same space. And maybe one day I can say what I want to say. That I’ll describe, in brilliant colors, the taste of your name. How despite the streetlights and the cars that fly down the road at midnight, we create our own eternity that knows no sense of time. And all the hours we spend apart, I’ll think of when we will return there. Maybe only sadness needs the words. Perhaps I never did. I’ll let this feeling coarse throughout my veins instead, paint you landscapes in my head. Kiss you with the intensity of two colliding stars. And when I breathe forever into your mouth I’ll whisper, “Darling do you feel it?” Because I do, I do, I do.