You were right and I was wrong. Wrong and foolish to challenge you.
I still maintain that love does not exist, but by God! there is something so very close to it. You threw it at me at the most inopportune time - I was busy, stressed, pressured, exhausted. No...perhaps it was the most perfect time.
Oh, he is wonderful. And I am the iron cauldron bubbling over atop an open fire. All at once I don't understand. Rationality takes flight and I find myself entertaining the most ludicrous ideas, imagining throwing myself into situations I used to mock. It's humiliating - panting like a thirsty dog for attention - and glorious all at once when the sentiment sometimes seems reciprocated. It's addictive. The rush is unlike anything.
You've turned me into an irony: calm while the blood sears inside. The smile is composed, but he has stopped my mind. I can't think. I can't say anything. I just sit and smile. And in the occasions I open my mouth, I wish I do not say anything stupid - and then go and say the dumbest things anyway. A whirlwind of thoughts fill my head day in and day out - things I want to tell him, but am too afraid to say. So many alien things, for the first time real. Tangible.
You've thrown at me someone who so casually slips his fingers through mine...and you've made me wish he would never let go. I bet that twinge of disappointment when he does is of your making, too.
You've brought the personification of perfection before me, and in the form of one I can never have. But I have no regrets. After all, you've simply given me all I have been wishing for. Now I wish that back then, I had faith enough to believe that I could have perfection. I wish I wasn't content with just seeing. I wish I was bold enough to ask to have.
Is it too late, Life?