Let Me Whisper

Let me whisper to you gently in the night the truths that we dare not say without the veil of darkness.

I will remind you that you have lifted me from despair, pulled me from the dark places I hide.

Let me tell you stories of our ancestors and the beauty and pain they saw here. Let me remind you of their courage in the face of remarkable odds and devastating uncertainty. I will speak to you of resilience.

I will murmur, urgently, of the ways the earth would dim in your absence, the color melting from every rock and bough and leaf as it detaches from the branch and settles, crisp and browned, in the mud.

I will speak of the kisses exchanged in the night that were nothing more than a placeholder of my and your humanity, that demand a recognition of our fleeting vitality.

I will remind you that I cannot be without you because your soul is my own and joy is incompatible if one is only halfway anything.

We can remember the bitter wine and the taste of exotic locations in our mouths and the moments that came before which were simply a dream of the future we live.

I will tell you of the hardships I will endure and you will endure and I will comfort you if the grief is too much to bear; I will remind you that nothing is unsafe if your hand is in mine.

Let me whisper to you gently in the night that all is ashes and dust without you.

Let me whisper to you, urgently, that I persist because you do.

Let me whisper to you gently in the night (can you hear it?) that I am because you are.

I will say it, so quiet now, that I love you. 

I love you.