why?
They ask me:
“Why do you love them?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words lodge themselves in the back of my throat, rendering me mute.
In the silence, I hear the quiet utterances of my heart:
how can you describe a love that burns, not flickers, pours, not rains, sings, not speaks
how can you say that their presence fills the cavernous void inside of you
how when they look into your eyes, it feels like they’re reading the depths of your soul
how when they wrap their arms around your tiny frame, the weight of the world subsides
how when you’re together, nothing else matters
how soft kisses from them taste like the first sip of perfectly brewed coffee on an crisp Autumn morning
or
how before you met them, you were an NPC in an amateur’s game, and they brought you back to life
how the words they whisper into your ear before bed echo the likes of Keats, Duffy and Wordsworth
how you’d happily lose hours in your day just lying next to them, fingering their curls and playing dot-to-dot along their scar speckled shoulders?
You can’t.
Because it’s impossible to reduce a love that dances wildly through your veins down to a cluster of sentences.
You simply cannot express the inexpressible, translate the untranslatable.
Again, they ask:
“Why do you love them?”
And I say, “I don’t know”.
-She's Burning
