They asked for drugs
and i showed them your smile

Dry words reassure  .  .  .
Her still eyes breaking down speech,
  .  .  .  My eyes are raining.

Then we met more often.
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora.
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth.
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight.
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I loved you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.

Nichita Stanescu

I don't understand it.
I am not a anxious person.
But lately, I've been catching myself on the edge of a break down --
not necessarily a destructive breakdown,
more like a breakdown of happiness.
Thinking about how much I love her...
It's almost pathetic.
Wanting her in my arms holds a physical ache.
Thoughts of her have formed an almost meditative mantra.
Her presence calms my mind like the shoreline does the sea.
Revelation.*
She's become my anchor.