The Story of Us

that’s her, right there, do you see her?

let me tell you how I know…

her movements define her

but you have to look closely

initially, I can see where you might be misled

where you might mistake what you see

she moves quickly, nearly always

rapid-fire, full-tilt, lickety-split

and while it’s hard to see from the outside

she moves so, with intent

no matter the environment

I can see her clearly

professionally, she has purpose

leading the charge to success

inspiring with a smile

that could make you believe in anything

support with kindness

words whispered over a shoulder

a hand patting a back

laughter pushing hesitation forward

personally, those glimpses are newer, and fewer

yet in the retelling of tales

I can see her character

as it lives on her page

here she is stealthy, covert, concealed

she has learned to exist on the edge

on the fringe, just outside

the things that she deserves

‘not enough’ is a phrase that passes her lips

far too many times

and the more I see into her

I can see the reasons why

this sweet angel, this darling girl

this woman who makes me smile

has martyred her view of her brilliance

yet I still see her shine

she settled into tolerance

for the proverbial ‘winter’s nap’

and believed that is was ok

to feel nothing ever again

she allowed herself to accept

the things that she never received

I’m not even sure she realized

how completely they had gone

she let her capacity to love

her own gift of empathy

become the measure of her happiness

gauged only by herself

the first time she saw me

it was as if she had been awoken

from that long lonely sleep

from the silence in her heart

she was drawn to the light

that she somehow knew

would illuminate the darkness

that had fallen over her

as I watch her now

outside of us

her pace never changes

its rhythm driving her

and then she comes to me

and once the door is closed

like crawling into a nest

she becomes quiet and still

she knows she belongs here

everything about her is softer

when she is next to me

and she never stops touching me

as if she can’t believe I’m real

while her body takes root in me

her fingers become her pulse

and I can see her still searching

not sure I won’t disappear

she touches me, as if she is studying

trying to remember every detail

I know that deep within her

she is still so afraid

her eyes, are clear blue windows

that allow me full access to her

and I watch her as she watches me

and I see myself through her eyes

I have been chosen by her

and it has always been as simple as that

there is no denying her tenacity

I tried that, yet here I am

the moment I felt her touch me

all of my arguments fell away

and I saw this beautiful creature

and suddenly, I was also awake

now I watch her with crystalline eyes

every nuance, every trace, every tinge

she unknowingly bares herself to me

and I chronicle her cues

she gives me words, and signs

she gives me passion and intent

she gives me answers without even knowing

she’s given me the story of her

she’s given me the ultimate gift

of interpreting the mystery of her

and in that unfolding tale

lies the story of our life