As I sit here soaring amongst the clouds, I feel there has never been a more perfect metaphor. Being beyond storms, higher than weather; love transcends all. On the surface things may look bleak one day and clear on another, but in the stratosphere that is love, it’s always sunny.

This is where we reside; she and I. She may not see it now because the storm is too great for her to bear at present, and it consumes me as well at times, but I know in the end love will prevail. We will endure. This is not wishful thinking. I know. I have faith in her. I believe in her. I believe in us.

I know the code she lives by and I respect it. In this world we’re raised in one inherits a code of beliefs, morals and values according to their society. But there are things beyond the conditioned mind. Things it cannot compute, calculate or register. This is where you’ll find love. The mind tells the heart it’s stupid, why is it feeling that way, because it wants control; self-preservation. But that yearning will always remain, knocking at the soul’s door until it is answered. And if it isn’t, regret sets in. The only thing worse than failure is regret. One must take a chance at life; at love. The greater the risk the greater the reward. These poignant words from “Searching For Bobby Fisher” ring so loudly at this moment: You’re playing not to lose. You’ve got to risk losing. You’ve got to risk everything. You’ve got to go to the edge of defeat.

I’ve always known this in theory, but it is now in practice where I’ve discovered its truth, upon my revelation of her actually being the one. I surrender. I am here for her to embrace or annihilate.

Perhaps she’s not ready to take that leap. I mean, who can risk repeating that anguish? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I know how it goes. But mistakes are corrected if one is earnest. I’ll do anything to regain her trust. Even at the expense of my privacy. I hold my palms out and lift up my sleeves to show I have nothing to hide. Even if it’s just platonic friendship working its way in increments to what we once were, but really, what we still are. She loves me more than anything at this moment just as she did before. It’s impossible to be any other way as it violates universal law in regards to love, and hers is as authentic as mine.

The thing about life is, the past whether good or bad is gone forever. All we will ever have is now. And I’m working for now. I am everything she needs now and tomorrow. Not I’ll be, but I am.

Yet another metaphor as I gaze out into the wild blue yonder and see the wing of the plane is I am the beneath her wings, as she is for me. I want to help he soar to unimaginable heights. I want her to tap into her unlimited potential, to know that she can conquer anything regardless of what present circumstance may say, whether financial, morale or love. There is no obstacle too great for her. If she believes hard enough it will happen. And if it doesn’t look like it’s manifesting immediately in the outside world, I’ll be there to make it happen for her. Life will provide for her through me if need be.

As the plane rocks side to side from turbulence, the scenario that replays in my mind everytime I fly is happening once again. What if this is it? What if the plane goes down. Perhaps it’s just speculation, but in those last moments, if they were to occur now, I wouldn’t have thoughts of anything else but her. Only her. As others would have panic in their eyes I’d smile to myself grateful for the time that we spent together. Flashbacks of her balancing on curbsides as I playfully try prevent her from doing so. Of the way she asks rhetorical questions followed by her notorious affirmation of, “Mhmm.” Of her exclaiming “Those cheeks!” Of other commonly used phrases, such as: Seriously? What can you do? Cannot. Book. Cookie. I know you’re not frozen. Of the way she looks after we part from a kiss, like she’s returning to consciousness from a deep sleep. Of the way she touches me when we sleep together. Of the way she joyously bounces so effeminately when we’re about to do something exciting. The way she coils up like a pelased kitten while standing against a wall after sex. The touch of her caress as she woos me to sleep. Of the way she looks at puppies and children. Those big hazel, cognac (inside joke) eyes. The dimples on the small of her back. Those perfect teeth and velvet lips. Her unique ears that are slightly pointy.

The little things that make her so endearing. This is the only way I’d think of us as past tense. In the face of death. Otherwise hope and faith remain on my side.

The universe speaks to me. As I write “Labor of Love” by Michael Giacchino for the Star Trek soundtrack plays. And “When You Believe” by Michelle Pfeiffer for the Prince of Egypt soundtrack cues. I’m filled with renewed vigor.

As much as would like to wallow I sorrow, I can’t. It’s not productive and my spirit is buyoant. I’ve cried and now it’s time to work towards a solution. My belief in hernand love will not allow me the luxury of defeat. I believe this the part in the film where the protagonist turns around and goes running after her.

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