Do I idealise you, ignore your flaws and diminish their prominence in my mind or do I acknowledge them and forgive you for them? I choose to see you the way I do. If we were perfect, we wouldn’t require forgiveness; we wouldn’t need love. How fortuitous it is that we are all imperfect and in need of love to know that we are lovable still. Conjoined in this.
Make me whole by forgiving me for not being whole at all.
She spoke words of encouragement as she walked me through the door. “You cry so cute-ly”, she said. And still I couldn’t shake the embarrassment of being so blissfully happy, because it is absurd to the world. Somehow, she understood and I thought: I’m meant to be here with this person, this stranger who understands. Her every word was an echo of love and truth; what a beautiful person! And when I turned to close the door and finally looked at her in the light, she wasn’t as attractive as I had imagined or remembered her to be. But why should it matter? It’s like, when you’re drunk and people look nicer. It’s almost a test of acceptance. Why can’t they be just as beautiful just by being who they are? I might not remember her face, but I will remember her kindness. She is beautiful.
I am in love with you as my fingers and muscles pulse. As things slow down and time moves in frames. And I don’t know if I’m slow or if the world is fast. Are you with me? It seems like you are with me. You are genuine, you care, and I am happy. I am so happy. I am touched, I am thankful and I am astounded.
I wish I can remember what exactly we talked about.
That’s why we are astounded by kindness. Because against all odds, they were gentle spirits. There is hope in the world, no matter how small, no matter how few. I almost cannot believe it.