In English, they say I love you.
But in poetry
I say:

I tried to imagine a life without you,
and my heart didn’t break at the thought
it simply refused
to build a world
where you and I do not exist.

I could walk the lush skin of greenery,
barefoot on the breath of flower filled garden
knowing you are somewhere
safe,
loved,
smiling
at the sound of your name
called out by a stranger
who isn’t me.

I would still smile.
Because you are breathing,
because you are held
perhaps under arms more suited
to your rhythm,
your values,
your laughter that hides in dry jokes,
your silliness
that someone else will call adorable.

Loving you?
means giving you away
to the life you were meant to have,
even if mine is not written in your pages.

We were almost,
could-have-beens
stitched by longing
but unraveled by trust
because the Almighty is the best of planners,
and I, only human
learning to love
without holding.


Bellah.