Linguistic Love

The melancholic tone of the notes in your voice comfort me like the knitted blanket that covered my Nona’s favorite wing chair. My Nona’s blanket was earth tones, marbled with rich reds and deep blues. I will never understand why one covers good furniture with blankets and such in order to preserve its condition. What are they waiting for? When and for whom is beauty found worthy of a grand unveiling? The woven embedment of the comfort you provide shelters me from the chilly wind that carries loneliness. And the fibers of your words sing familiarity to me. Something like a Blue Jay from my childhood whistling a carefree pitch after the first spring mow. As a child, I loved to swing--the smell of fresh cut grass beneath me, the sun’s warmth on my brown legs, my fine hair tickling my exposed shoulders, the feeling of escape in flying…and that tantalizing feeling of fear in my stomach as it flipped when I swung too high, uplifting the legs of the swing set from the forgiving earth below. Life making its first of many introductions to an expiring innocence. The thoughtful effort you exert before your words tumble purposely from your lips brings tears to my eyes. It feels like baptism to my soul. This visual clarity--of your words dancing on dust particles--overwhelms me. I can see the curled tails of your g’s and your y’s swirling about. And your hard-dotted i’s and j’s makes my heart skip a beat. My love deepens like a cello’s bow sawing widely, searching for its deepest point—and it is at that depth where my empathy for you plants its roots. There, it grows stalk--immersing a piece of you far below the core of my existence. And I nourish you. I give you the hydration from my tears and I fertilize you with my experience. Together, a strengthened approach is afforded to accepting the meaning of life. We climb our hearty stalk--emerging from our souls--and offer patience to those pained by life, compassion to those weakened with despair, and friendship to those misunderstood. Hold my hand and I will draw pictures on your palm, like a child. Close your eyes and feel the tips of my fingers outline a home where you can rest. With me.