Sweet love of mine.
If you had a balcony, I would stand underneath it in the spotlight of the moon, shivering under clouds of the hope that you'd appear.
If I could sing, I would serenate you sweet promises, lubricated in wine and sealed with smoke.
If I could rhyme, I would dip a feather in indigo ink and write you poetry while you are vast asleep. I would wake you at sunrise, whispering soft words onto your lips like the brush of butterfly wings.
If I had money other than these seven coins, humming confrontational melodies in the pocket of my winter coat, I would buy you a rainbow and everything you ever wanted.
If I could draw, I would sketch you a future of bottomless oceans of autumn leaves and endless roads of desert sand. If I could paint, I would colour it in shades of red that have never been touched by a human glance before.
If I had the oppenness of a newborn baby and the courage of a warrior, I would stand stripped bare before you, and explain to you how I have never loved anyone like I love you. That I will never love anyone like I love you. That I want to be near you always and for you to never leave me again. I would look you in the eye as I said it and I would not be afraid that your lips might not form the same promises or that your fingers would not knead the same desires out of hopes and dreams.
If I was nothing more than who I am right now, my hands would reach out as if my fingers could almost touch you. As I closed my eyes, a thin river of salty longing would slowly evaporate on my fear-flushed cheeks. I would press my lips together and articulate silent sentences of hope and determination. Through my nose I would inhale a big gulp of trust and as my feet would carefully take turns in moving forward, I would let go of everything and hold on to nothing.
I would let go of nothing and hold on to everything.
If I was nothing more than who I am right now.
This too- you are a very talented writer.
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