I watch you dreaming,
strive to read the REM beneath your eyelids,
see the hands you hold in sleep,
the fields where your feet run.
Strange to believe that already how so much of who I am and
who I will be is contained in your body.
Strange to think how fragile is the vessel which holds this
thing called love.
The fear of losing you,
of losing you in me,
of losing me in you,
wakes me up in the early morning hours
when I am away from you.
I am torn between the beliefs that I am whole
alone and yet am not fully complete without you.
These thoughts live together,
rest side by side,
gather themselves around
my heart like a comforter and
give me peace.
Somehow someway there is truth here in this dichotomy.
Such is the paradox of love.
Such is this place called we.
October 24, 2001
Originally posted here June 2012
Slow Mover 