Updated: Mar 13
He tells me he loves me, eyes smiling, patient and quiet. He doesn't say it for reciprocation or to make a grand gesture, he just wants to share what's on his heart.
I've never met someone like him before; he's grounded yet fragile and sometimes looks at me as though I'm strong enough to break him.
It's funny how you could be both the wave and the shore, the hail and the soil, the storm and the peaceful aftermath. It's interesting how we're often perceived as one or the other, never two in the same.
Sometimes I think we're all just wanting to be swept away and also the one sweeping. It's a delicate relationship - our dance with infatuation and fear.
How does he do it? Make these movements - the graceful swaying back and forth - seem light and free when they once weighed me down?
Maybe it's because he's seen more than the others. Maybe he's felt beyond what my history was capable of grasping.
And within that knowing - the seasoned soul that's lived many lives - comes with it a peace I've not yet discovered. A still flame not yet flickering; an enchantment that's not yet matured.
How does he do it, you may ask?
By calming the once shaken mind into serenity, the former distrust into hopeful faith and by making what used to feel ordinary, beautiful.