“My love for you gives me wings. That is all. My love for you is a four leaf clover I carry in my back pocket when I need luck and guts. When the world tells me I can’t do something and you tell me I can.
I can, because you. Because I met you and I’ve loved you and that my dear, might be the most impossible thing I could ever hope to achieve.”
To that one time I wandered in Amsterdam for an entire week in the rain, another January ago. How I watched the sunset in Paris and I felt the whole sky light up in the flames of our love. How I knew, or didn’t know that it was a forever goodbye.
How I wanted to return.
But I couldn’t. And you didn’t.
How I got lost in the canals and the haze and the panic of that no-more.
How a man named Blue Tits let me sleep in his spare bedroom in an apartment just outside the city and left a key in the flower pot on the porch for me to come and go.
I came and went.
And met another angel named Jasper, curly hair and pristine glasses so full of light and hugs and comfort.
How I kept looking for the Northern lights, looking for a sign, looking for another way to you.
How I didn’t find them, didn’t yet realize that was another coordinate and the map had changed and it was time to belong to a new terrain.
It was so dark. And I was so lost.
But there was art and life and color.
Dreams of an opening, a throughway, bylanes and bypasses and beauty.
And kindness. How they were kind. Strangers- angels sent to nourish and feed and embrace.
How their love gave me wings. Was a four-leaf clover I carried in my back pocket when I needed luck and guts. How when the world told me over, they said, “beginning.”
So many small beginnings.
The lightness in the dark. The love in the forgiveness. The clarity in the confusion.
How I’ve tried to become it- the wings and courage and love and beginnings. So it can be shared, so it can multiply. Because I met you and I loved you and that my dear, might be the most impossible thing I could ever hope to achieve.