Us. You and I.
So here we are then, you and I.
Us.
When did you and I become us?
I look at you. Look back at you
through a myriad prism of snapshot memories.
I look back at you, as I saw you then -
a familiar stranger.
I look at you. As I see you now,
through snatches of time
and catches of emotion.
You - you have unfurled before me,
more beautiful than I could have seen.
Your carefully constructed shell,
more fragile than I could have known.
I - I have melted into your warm insides.
Taken comfort in the gentle, lapping pools
I stumbled across,
without knowing they could exist.
You - you have let me in.
Enveloped me, let me see you.
Trusted me to love you.
I - I have not resisted.
Not pushed, not struggled,
not taken fright.
You - you are under my skin,
breathing inside me, moving within me,
fused throughout me.
I - I have felt you there
and accepted you. Lost myself to loving you,
without condition. Or expectation.
And now, you– you with your unceasing fight
—you may leave me.
You may rip yourself out from inside me,
try to undo the transfusion,
take yourself back.
And now, I - I with my melted ice
and my brimming heart
—I may have to bow my head,
breathe a sigh, give you back,
say goodbye.
And we - we with our reckless streaks,
our crazy, silly, wistful hearts,
our pragmatic heads
—we may have to stem the tide.
Take us and break it.
Turn it back, back into you and I.
But if– I dare say when –
these mays become dids and dones,
don’t cry.
Don’t weep for us.
For we were, for we are
wonderful. Fabulous.
Us. You and I.
(2005)
