My Words Are Like Glass.

I was watching Cyrano (2021) and was moved to action, so here is a sort of love letter for my one.

My words are like glass, shattered on the ground. For you, I try to mend the pieces, lining the edges to mold them back into frame only to spill crimson tears, my fingertips weeping as they are at a loss. No matter my thoughts or my feelings, I cannot express the words from my lips or convey to you the depth and truth of your influence on my mind and heart.

Yet I am desperate. My hands shake and quiver, reaching for another shard. Further I slip, as the pieces are drenched in the red passion of my very being, casting a vermillion sheen onto the floor as the sun beats down on my hesitant hands, passing through the transparent, meaningless prose I struggle to compose. The only meaning one can glean from my fragmented shards of admiration come from not the glass itself, but the ruby hue manifested from my own incompetence.

It is raw and unfiltered, painful and agonizing in the worst, most helpless of ways. To see you, and love you day after day only to fall short of crafting a mosaic with these stained scraps feels as if my chest could implode from the sheer shame and embarrassment.

Everyday there are windows; I can see through to other worlds and catch a glimpse of a fraction of what I see in you, but never the same. For you, it is indescribable. A pane never-ending as it reflects part of me into the infinity of forever. A window to your soul, peering from yours to mine and we are like neighbors. Everyday, reflecting one another. I break and smash countless panes of glass, taking each shard that could hope to encapsulate you but nothing will ever fit. They can never elucidate the way the sun reflects off of your form, or how the rain cascades over the planes of your face.

Nothing will ever capture you in essence, or even jargon, or come close to how you shine. The glass bites and nips at my fingers but I persevere with mangled digits as if I were Sisyphus of the spoken word, but only a child in my elementary execution as I fall further down the mountain, never to reach the peak that is you in your purest and most exact incarnation. I must apologize, but as in myth I will continually devote myself to finding every shard, every piece that will carry this message of appreciation and respect, my unspoken words of love and bashful fawning.