Inthe beginning of the new year, Giuseppe gathered one of his most recurrentthoughts. He knew that one of the best ways to ease up one’s emotions is towrite it down and contemplate. And so he began transcribing his mind. Towhom it was and will always be, Youare a flower and I am your bee. I am a wave and you are my sea. You never hadto steal my breath away. Somehow, you have always managed to sway me to hand itover to you freely.
I would love to say that you make me fragile in the knees.But to be completely truthful and quite frank, you make my body forget it hasknees at all. When you leave, it storms.
The sky screams and weeps. The seas,the oceans, the lakes and the rivers are witnesses. You come home and it ispainted once more, of colors that the waters love to reflect.
Inever want to be away from you again. Except when we are at work, in therestroom or when one of us is at a movie the other does not want to see. Butan ocean of difference exists between making love and being made by it.
Thereis no face when I turn. There are no answers when I call out. I persuade myselfof invented footsteps, of a humming that is not there to be heard.
I swear Ican smell you even though you never passed by. I have lived so long with thephantoms of your presence. I promise there is still a room for the flesh ofyou.
Whatif I would have been the great quest, the one thing in this life that you willalways regret never exploring? Leap, I will build you wings and I will set youfree. Ipromise you that I will try harder to be better. I have fought with thingsinside me for longer than you know.
I do not have a clue on what they are orwhy they are there. I only know that they feel manageable and I can overcomethem when I am around you. Perhaps because strength is something we strollinto.
Perhaps it is lost inside us; around warped pathways and over mountainswe have created from the mounds we were offered with. Perhaps it is only whenwe let ourselves to become lost as well, that we can ever stumble headfirstinto our strengths. I have an ocean of courage submerged somewhere deep insideme. I know this because I taste the salt falling into streams down my cheeksevery time I cry.
Justhow unique this human experience is, that we all just wish to be the mostimportant thing on Earth to someone else. I know I cannot have too much of anything or I will ruin it. If I wantto keep things beautiful and poignant, I must find the time to miss them. When you have swum in the sea, the lakewill no longer do. Everyone else was a pond, but the ocean was always you.
It was always you.