For me to say, “I love you” too,
I have to know my “I” is true,
And what I understand of “love”,
And if I know “you” well enough.
To say my “I” with confidence,
I have to find my quintessence.
My purest “I” is in my art.
It’s where I live with all my heart.
I’ve tried so many different things,
But nothing gives my soul its wings,
Except the act of crafting lines
That interpret our world’s design.
Unreasonable – yes, I know.
I’ve tried to let this madness go.
But every time I’ve left my art,
I’ve seen me crumble, fall apart.
Without my art, I have no why.
Without my art, there is no “I”.
Of all the words I’ve cut and pieced,
I understand this “love” the least.
Some days it makes me overjoyed.
Some days it leaves me mad, annoyed.
I think this love’s a living thing.
And just like every breathing being,
It needs nourishment: happiness.
That’s freedom from our crappiness.
It’s not about the things we gain.
But fathoming the other’s pain.
A means for us to empathize:
To see their pain through their own eyes.
It’s not about us sharing rooms,
But making space for each to bloom
Into our individual “I”,
For each to find our ikigai.
It’s not about the things we say,
But what we do in our own way
To bring each other daily peace
In health, and in the worst disease.
It’s not about a sacrifice,
But willingness to pay a price
To have the other in our day.
We’re lost without them anyway.
It’s hard to love with daily ease.
But only love can bring us peace.
I know a little bit of “you”.
The things you like, the things you do.
The things you value, things you don’t.
The things you will do, things you won’t.
Your imperfections rivet me
Like golden streams of Kintsugi.
Though parts of you are still a mess,
Your wu-wei is effortless.
You’re stronger than you think you are.
For ones you love, you stretch afar.
You have an aura you don’t see.
You are this poet’s fantasy.
With you, I’m spirited away.
Your acts inspire every day.
I’m slow to learn the truths they teach,
But they are depths I’m moved to reach.
They teach that love is being there,
To show, not say, how much you care.
That listening means keeping quiet,
Even if I think I’m right.
That patience is an active move.
It takes some time to find our groove.
To understand our different ways.
To figure what our silence says.
There’s much of you I’m yet to see.
You’re infinitier than me.
I’m sorry, couldn’t come online
To be your pizza Valentine.
But this I know, and this is true,
I love you, love you, love you too.