You

I hear your whispers falling gently upon my ears like raindrops on a soft Fall night. Crisp and clean, soft and warm, a cluster of wholeness unhampered by tradition. A taste of sanity in a world gone mad.

You are thunder storms and crashing waves, tumultuous winds and trees leaning menacingly low to the ground. You are ice storms and tornados, hurricanes and passion in its wildest forms, but you are also the dog who lies quietly by the hearth on long cold nights, wanting only the warmth and companionship of those you love.

Looking into the lake I see your reflection in my face, knowing that if I dip my hands deeply enough, I will find only myself. Still, I dangle my fingers in the water, playing like a cat with a willow wisp, thoughtlessly chasing the beauty of you in and out of the light and think I see the glancing shadows of fingers playing back.

Elusive children of parallel universes, we are only characters in each other’s storybooks, but these are the good books, the enduring stories that pass down through the ages as legends and myths. More than lovers we are adorers whose depth is unfathomable, whose presence is never recognized, but ever present.

When I am hungry, I look to you. When I am afraid, I look for you. When I am alone I am you.