Every time I sit down to write, it’s pretty commonplace for me to be struck with some profound thought, a glorious insight, or a particularly extended, but effective, metaphor.

If there is one subject with which I am routinely unable to articulate, it is you. Attempting to describe you is a Sisyphean feat: I get so close to the perfect adjective, the ideal phrase, a beautiful line of prose that is sure to finally finalize how I feel, then the boulder rolls back down the hill, and I start once again. Often when friends ask me to describe you, I find myself struggling to do so. I used to think this was the ultimate insult, but I have grown to look at it as a powerful compliment. You defy description; no mundane musings like “energetic” or “beautiful” really do you justice, or even begin to scratch the surface of who you are, and why you mean the world to me. However, I can give it a try:

For three years, We’ve kept each other warm when the wailing winds tried to cool us. For three years, we pulled closer as others tried to wrench us apart. For three years, we have wandered, hand in hand, heart to heart, just like at the start. For three years, we have loved, the embrace of our bodies working in unison, long after the fall of the sun. For three years I have learned from you, yearned for you, allowed tears for you. For three years, we have failed, we have grown and we have laughed. For three years, I have fallen, stumbled, forgotten what to do. And for three years, the constant was you.

Love,

It’s a word that some call strong

I’ve been told it’s wrong,

But the way you break me

The way you make me see

The motion of my heart,

The commotion of my brain,

I don’t need to fear,

I don’t have to strain,

To crack, to shed a tear,

No, not with you here.