Thursday, the 12th day of the 9th month, 2013

   Last night you slept next to an angel.
   You said, "I'm all yours," as sleep finally won you over. You remember how your heart was actively attempting to escape through your chest solely through blunt force. You pictured, just for the briefest of moments, that your lungs belonged to the same being, and you couldn't help but realize that your breathing was matched and you wondered in the darkness then, with nothing but sweet vanilla filling ever-flared nostrils, if this was what Love was always supposed to feel like, and whether or not you've just been kidding yourself this whole time, ridiculously unaware that two separate people could possibly fit together so well and so effortlessly. She is a powerful being. That is the only thing I'm truly certain of at the moment. She said,
    "I imagined the shape of your penis..." which in itself was something you'd never heard, "and I am glad I was right." She continued, "In fact, I may or may not have masturbated for an hour envisioning it in my head," which was another something you'd not heard... Not in that way. Not like that. Never like that.
    She's got a way about her.
    You were intrigued and slightly self-conscious, as you did not last as long as you would have liked, which would've been somewhere towards the end of "Third Eye" and not necessarily shortly after the first verse. Then you convulsed, as you've been known to do, for several minutes, trying to regain some semblance of composure, though she solely watched you do so, getting much more pleasure from the view of a man wracked with full body spasms, as that may not have been something she's seen. At least for awhile.
    We've both a similarly checkered past, searching for the glimmering Nirvana of the one precious, fleeting moment of pure, white light that sears itself to screwed-shut retinas and leaves fuzzy star bursts doing a dance of spiraling mitosis on the outskirts of your view, that is, when you feel like you are able to open your eyes again. It's not from shame, this inability to keep watching each possible expression and moment, but rather the feeling that you are somehow unworthy of this, that you should never had an opportunity to feel this joy. This all-encompassing transcendence of the reality around you, where worry and preoccupation are surgically removed from your being so very completely that you're no longer certain if they're simply words you've made up in your head to fill the unbearably long years it has taken you to find each other.
    At this point in the day, you've stepped away from the book, you may or may not have ingested an additional ten milligrams of crazy calm in halves, you've prepared dinner for forty, and you've realized something profoundly important about the situation with your guardian angel:
    Although you've not felt like this in quite a long, long, long, long, long, still unbearably long, long, far too long, essentially your whole life, long time, you've begun to see her true self: though she's had a much more difficult existence than most, she has harnessed that loss into a pure power of healing energy. Which made you come to the aforementioned realization: even though you are well in Love with her, you know that as of just over a month ago, she did not make the wrong decision. He needs her now, at this point in time, more than you. She has the power to bring him back from the brink, and you have the power to genuinely make her happy for the rest of both your days. Herein lies the dilemma. You love her. She does love you, however unbelievable that is to you. He loves her, and she, him, as well. You're sitting in the gazebo in the Woods where the farmer's daughter was married. You're listening to a mass slowly shifting from tipsy to beyond. You feel the energy of the Forest. You just made the thunder rumble appreciatively in the distance. You know that you're better for her, long term. You know she's best for him for as long as she can hack it. The name of the game is patience. Someone said it was virtuous. You think, Fuck you, guy. This is going to be painful.
     In the palm of your hand is the power to wash all her worry and doubt and pain and anguish and dark history away and bring her moreso into the Now, while she helps you do the same. You want her so badly for your own that it's terrifying you. The cards were dealt. Now, we three must interpret what we want their meanings to entail.
     You're not stepping aside, because you can't. I won't let you. You've made enough mistakes in your life thus far. How about we start figuring out what the right plan of action is for US. Oh yeah, that's right: patience.
     The thunder rumbles in agreement.

Saturday, the 14th of September, 2013

   How long has it been since you've cooked breakfast for someone? Probably too long and it was most likely for a man, at that. Real slick, Slick. A sentence to encompass what just transpired in the form of a list: 4 eggs, half a container of roasted red potatoes, a healthy blanket of organic salsa, slathering of Chalula ('cause why not?), four small slices of Pepperjack strategically placed, five strips of bacon, two cups of Boom., Almond milk splash, sugar in the raw, Love, and topped with a Cilantro-Lime aioli. Sweet, heavenly flutterbys. Who are you? Fantastic. She was finished as you were, raring to go on this day of days. 
    You fell in love on Friday the 13th, as that's supposed to be significant and therefore you've written it down. How did this happen? Now you're both our on your metal staircase, writing in tandem, an endless dance that is most definitely not a waltz. More like a salsa or merengue, which you keep trapped within yourself, deep down where no one has sifted through to look in a rather long time. She did, with spade and hammer, crashing through layers of rock and sorrows long fossilized in impenetrable cakings about your warm, gooey center. Digging and digging, and gently coaxing the grit from your heart with a fine-haired brush, ever so softly. She held her treasure aloft in the morning sunlight, and was pleased. Not just pleased, but enthralled with the teaming powers encapsulated within its ragged crystalline form. The vibrations warmed her fingers and palms, coursing icy, yet comfortable, shivers to the base of her spine and back again. I resounded as a smile through her entire being -- my essence melding to hers.
    Last night I experience my first seemingly Tantric moment. Spasms wracked my body, and if there were words to speak then that were right, I would have, and instead I burbled growls and yearned with moans and purs. The message got across, regardless, as I am finding terribly quickly that we are of a single mind, and it is the single-most terrifying thought I've ever encountered.
    Never. Never had I thought this possible. Even now I feel I can't watch her straight on, lest I blind myself insane upon her radiance. What am I to do now?
    I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
    Now you know where Home is, and I'm slowly losing grip of my worries, which I've held onto as she holds my crystal heart: adoringly, nurturingly, fully concerned with absolutely nothing else, all-knowingly coaxing it to be still. She whispers to the gem in her palm,
    "It will be alright. I've found you now."
    This. This is what you were "supposed to stop looking for", as it would find you on its own. It has. Spending your life contemplating where your counterpart resides, solely because you've felt criminally incomplete this whole time. You begin to wonder whether each inexplicable turmoil and swing of depression was solely a significant heartache of the other and you were simply crestfallen by the distance and the powers of your empathetic link. Yelling at the shadows, because you've felt her there all along, feeling around in the darkness for you. You went to call out to her. Made the sound that explains your true self, and it attracted scavengers posed as her: shape-shifting succubi with sonorous sussurus, sweetly sapping essential sorrows from a soul you're still not sure exists. All I know is you weren't ready for her 'til this very moment. She wanted you as you are, not as you were while you hoped to be a better version of yourself. "Thank you, playlist." You're pulling it all together now, and it's terrifying, because you were certain that you had felt Love and understood what it entailed and understood how to stoke its embers. Those were false images and feelings. True love simply is. It's not something that you have to work to create, simply open up to, and it comes spilling in, in a single rush, filling the empty crevasses that have rung hollow behind your eyes for far too long. 
     It screams, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here!" And you smile at its adorable mannerisms and thought processes, as you know they are yours. Both of you as one against the crushing weight of existence, except now it is simply a hawk's feather you hold onto for good luck. Those experiences shaped you into this man. 
     I have been found. I am someone's home, and she mine. Now the forest beckons. Let's dance.