They say love is in how you describe someone. A 6’4” linebacker of a man reduced to the way he

Raises his right eyebrow when he smiles. More bewitching than the wiggle of Elizabeth’s nose

And I, more dumbfounded than Darrin. Maybe it’s not you I love, but the idea of love. A feather floats

To earth with no intended target, only knowing that if it does not land it will be lost in the wind forever.

But perhaps, like I, the feather dreams of who will pick it up. A child who will tie it around his head in

A game of cowboys and Indians, only to chuckle as a man when he pulls the pressed relic from his

Mother’s scrapbook. One bird’s naturally inevitable loss becomes a treasure that lasts a lifetime. So if

I must fall in love, why not with that eyebrow of yours, eternally breathtaking just like the smile

It accompanies. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. But now that you’ve known it as

Rose, would any other word do it justice? Like this, love is love, but the beauty of life is in the details.

If I am to never know the feeling of your kiss on my mouth, then I must have studied your lips enough

For my dreams to concoct it. If I never get to hear you tell me you love me, then I must know your

Voice as though I can hear it in the wind. Life is not about seeing and doing everything, but about

Appreciating everything you are privileged enough to do and see. Knowing this, would you be content

To die tonight based on how you lived your life? My answer is yes, because even in my loneliness,

I will fade away with the feeling of your lips pressed against mine, and the sound of your

Whispers in the trees.