song of a nightingale

There are those people you know. Those people that become the song you sing. It's a smile at first or the way they pass a casual hello. There's a place that you connect at some point. Maybe you made them smile where others were not able to. Maybe it was just a freak accident, but you decide to walk down the low-lit path a little longer.

Things come up and you talk. Sometimes a word. Sometimes a paragraph. You share some things in common, you have other things you enjoy separately and every now and then you help each other think about something in a new way or discover something that wouldn't have been discovered without the other. The waters continue to deepen. You wake up and sleep each night and among your other considerations, you see this person. What are they doing? How was their day? Nothing seems to be enough to know about them.

Then they tell you that they feel likewise.

You lie down or stay awake waiting for them to walk around the corner for yet another midnight garden stroll and you love them for that feeling. Then you wonder why. There isn't a particular thing you like about them although the list is long; they're smart, funny, mischievous but pleasant, gentle, has a kind word for most things, seems to be thoughtful, amazing smile, looks nice and takes care of themselves, good thinker, easy to see into.

On the other hand, I see tendrils of darkness - places where pain hides. You're honest, but you don't say everything and I read that silence and it is deafening loud, filled with your most intense emotions. You never do get around to saying what you feel. Maybe because you are afraid that you won't be able to control it is you speak the feelings aloud. You observe everything from a distance that you can't be touched because life has taught you that these things are safer. You think too much about everything and breaking away from those thoughts to just take a breath; you are a creature that lives in the mind first and the body second. Sometimes, to be honest, that has the potential to be painful for me; if I get too close to how you feel, you push back with a nonchalant comment, but I, knowing you so well, simply nod -- I know you feel far more intensely than you will allow yourself to vocally express.

Yeah, you enjoy physical things from time to time, but the place you desire most to connect is the soul. I understand because I'm just like you... or you're just like me... Whichever the case may be, this much is true: we are cut from a similar cloth. We are different on so many varying things, but we are one and the same in essence. This is that connect I think; we connect at essence. At the soul. I touched not what is inaccessible, but what most are afraid to touch. I touched without fear and with wide open eyes and you felt relief because I understood and decided to stay. What exists because of that is something that could be described as impossible to all but a select few. I cherish this.

I lie down and I think of you and strength fills the room I am in. I smile. I don't have words to describe it, so I do not force them. I enjoy. I am with you, in the same room, feeling the warmth of you from galaxies away as if I were closer than the air on your skin...

And when you come to me, I will sing again as I always have; your nightingale under starlight awaiting a princess to appear.

[and this is only a fraction of the whole]