The few and far in between I give in to writing in such a rambling manner, I indulge, indulge myself immensely.
If you've been following this blog you can probably count the number of times I've written journal-style in one hand. Never a big fan of the whole dear-diary-this-is-what-happened-to-me-today bit, reserving that for good ol' journal writing with a pen and a notebook.
But today is an exception.
It's rare for me to write simpering prose and poetry laced with happiness, joy brimming at the edges. Very rare, in fact, that I believe the reason you stumbled upon my blog is that at one time, like me, you've felt sadness -- no, sorrow -- glorified in ways that "pluck the words right out of my heart" so says one reader.
I love glorifying sadness, holding on to sorrow and hence, what we have is most of what's written on this blog. And yet as of late, I've been driven to write about the light of love, its resplendence and burgeoning promise. Or to be more apt, the love I've been blessed with.
I have been happy - and this is the part where I must apologize to past loves - but I have never been THIS happy.
The long and short of it is that everything has fallen into place, everything just clicks.
I'm at a point in time where things are neither hard nor easy, there still are complications, dregs of the past I'm trying to reconcile with and I'm much more harried at work but I must say, her presence grounds me. Her being life's grandest surprise. Not too long ago, in jest I said to a new friend, "let life surprise you." Little did I know that life, blindsiding me one after another, was yet to deliver her biggest curveball.
And it was beautiful. It still is. So to her, who inspires me, who holds the highest distinction of making me write in ways I have never written before, who has made me beautiful once more, my muse -- you're crazy. Absolutely crazy and I'm absolutely, irrevocably in love with you.
You were expecting that, weren't you? My declaration of love laced with our own brand of humor.
I'm starting to know you, really know you -- maybe in ways that creep you out, like how our minds seem to work in unison or how I seem to read you quite well -- and I'm loving every bit of you I find peeking from the folds of your skin, your soul. I pick them up one by one. I love gazing at them resting, delicate in my palm, torn between the desire to hold them securely because, my love, I fear there will be no letting go (so suck it up, crazy, you're stuck with equally crazy me), and the urge to see them soar.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Because you are at once, both the clamor and the quiet of my heart.