I feel it in my fingers (jiving all over these macintosh keys)

You know. It takes a lot. Really it does. For me to find myself again flailing my arms out and about into this beautiful mess. And I know it probably took long enough for me to realize it but believe me, I wasn’t about to consider going premature on you and risk messing it up til another lifetime. I was comfortable the whole time, til you came along, shook me up, and cut me down to sized defenses. I’ve never been so defenseless (I’d like to believe that past encounters somehow pale in comparison to what I’m hoping I can have with you). Currently and at any rate, you peel my eyes open til the break of dawn, put immaculate meaning back to the songs I’ve written (and will be writing thanks to you), take the form of every cinematic love interest, and put back that distinct sort of smile on my face that clearly says: “I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground. I’m getting to like this feeling I’ve found. I’m getting to love the thought of having her around. And I will never let her down.”

The thought of you reminds me that everyday is a divine gift that promulgates endless possibilities, potential spontaneity and boundless opportunities to live, love, and be loved. Quite frankly, you bring color back to my otherwise safe and convenient yet dull world. I’m relishing the thought of getting to see you again. Witnessing masterpiece after masterpiece with every smile you flash, every sparkle your eyes birth, every dance your bones perform, every miracle you facially express… See I could go on and on with this and not get tired. Like countless yet less meaningful times before, I find myself drowning in a whirlpool of adjectives constantly trying to find that one ultimately beautiful and perfect word that would do justice to how I feel every time you cross my whole being (which as you could imagine occurs QUITE A LOT). I claw my way back up and sneak in a breath of “safe, convenient, dull” air only to find myself sinking yet again, each time deeper than the last and in relatively rapid successions.

I will never say you’re perfect
But I will say that your imperfections to my eyes are negligible and do just about as much damage as an insect bite (without malaria or dengue among other contractible illnesses). In your imperfections (which to some stick out like a sore thumb), I find your perfection.

I will never say you complete me
But I will say that I will be complete in Christ someday. Two halves completing each other = Myth. Two wholes complete individually, making “awesome” happen together = Truth.

I’ll see you at the center. :)