i send my SOS to the world- this is my message in a bottle. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Look of Love
What would the object of my truest heart mirror? If I could make you real, softly place every quiet need I've never had within the confines of your skin, resting in each follicle and pore, what would they contain? What would the condensation that sweeps your brow be made of? The same water that stretches across the Philippine islands, green and soft as shallow kisses? Would you have a heart full of hawaiian hibiscus or a palm with a deep lifeline like the Grand Canyon? Would there be freckles on your back and would I search them at night for constellations? Every idea that I once held seems irrelevant and unpredictable until you make them reality, just as each comparison that I can draw to every beautiful thing I've ever seen will probably be inadaquate. But I can tell you what I hope to find, somewhere out in the blackness and void that I call out into every night as the sun dips into the Pacific. I audibly wish for patience, the quiet unspoken support of a million waiting nights. That in the same way I have been patient for you to arrive, you will be patient with me. I wish for smiles that swallow my complaints a thousand miles wide, enveloping them with worn hands and understanding eyes. I wish for solidness like the redwoods in Yosemite, so large that I couldn't wrap my arms around them, existing in a scope that far exceeded my apparent youth. I wish for laughter like the sound of the waves that lapped on the Boracay beach that served as the music to the best nap I had ever had. I ask for tenderness in the soft ways that have always eluded me and I beg at night for someone forceful enough to guide me. I need respect because it's always been a missing component in my past relationships. I ache for someone who dreams in the same ways I dream- limitless in scope, larger than life but never completely impossible underneath the ramrod strength of personal belief that anything is possible. I need so desperately someone who understands passion; not just a passion for me but for all the things he tackles in life. Someone that can harness my spirit that verges on excesses- the grand sweep of each sense and moment. Someone like me, secretly always searching for more, reaching and clawing at the next thing that will change the landscape. I also need someone who hears the melodies in the subtlest things and points them out to me so that I don't miss them, someone who opens my eyes to the possibilities in all things. I necessisitate change. I need a man who will endure those changes, shape and shift himself with the flexibility to meet my almost demanding pace. I facilitate conversation and I want to be interested in all things, want to absorb them like sea sponges. I need a pool of knowledge as wide and deep as the lake in Perris that I used to vacation at when I was a child- a lake that seemed limitless as an ocean to my twelve year old eyes. I want the silences to be just as poignant as the rivers of words. I want to lay next to you for whole evenings lost in nothing but my own thoughts and never have you ask what's on my mind. I want to leave stages of thousands behind at the end of the night and feel like there is nobody else in my world except you and I. I want to tell you secrets when the world thinks they know everything about me. I want to discover something new about you after thirty years. I want to build my life around one person in a way that puts all my eggs in one basket. I want to jump off the precipise without a guarantee and barely the whisper of a parachute. The surface aspects of you are muted and undefined, out of focus like the long range telescopes that dot Mt. Diablo. There is no way to see you ahead of time, and for this I am glad. There is no picture to put in my pocket like paper cards of the saints. There is no tangible evidence until you make yourself a material reality. You could pass me on the street- slanted brown eyes and crooked nose, unruly wavy hair and babyface, sand colored locks and wide green eyes, aquiline nose and proud carriage, wide quarterback shoulders or thin and lanky with a half smile and sleepy lidded eyes. But I hope I'll recognize you when we meet and I hope you'll recognize me. I hope that you'll see in me all the things that you carve out of your imagination. That somewhere, the wild hand motions that I make when I speak will be endearing to someone. Perhaps I wish that the contradiction of my childlike nature and my old soul will be recognized and coddled. Maybe I hope that you like my imagination, my turbulence, my one-track mind. Maybe there is room in someone's heart, somewhere, for a tomboy who loves pink, a girl who laughs to herself, who sings in the car, who dances in her room. Maybe there is space for a woman who writes about the heart but never uses her own, who will always pursue the next adventure, who is fickle and shortsighted, painfully aware and overanalytical, self absorbed and tries so desperately to love the people around her with the fevor they deserve. At any rate, the look of love is one that consists of every valve of the heart, step of the sole, blink of the eye. I'll keep my eyes open for you. 1:54 a.m. - Monday, Apr. 18, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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