In foolish moments I’ve believed that I understand you and know what it means to have you at the centre of my life. All it took was eleven words to once again blow this sandcastle out from under my feet:
“Let us not love in word, but in deed and action.”
How often have I paid lip service to you? Thrown you around as if you were just any other four-letter word? Now, we both know I l… (See, I almost did it again) have a great appreciation for words, but as that statement so aptly reminds us: Words drained of action are like paper houses that buckle at even a hint of weight or wind. The truth of who we are is ultimately revealed by our deeds.
I have loved. I think. I hope. I believe. But does what I have known, and currently know, as love even scratch the surface? I ask you these questions and sense that to stare into you and have you stare back is not unlike the abyss Nietzsche spoke off.
I’m not trying to conjure up some grandiose or hyper-romantic mirages. In the everyday, sans champagne wishes and caviar dreams, you are seen in the small sacrifices, the loyalties our habits and choices reveal, the long-haul perseverance in a quick-fix world. We see you and make room for you in the million little things. Some are brighter than others, but each is a precious building block in a life marked by you.
To choose you is to look beyond myself; to trade in stifling comfort and control for shared yet somehow doubled joy. Wish me courage in this pursuit. It’s the adventure of a lifetime.