To all the ways you make me squee
It has been so long since I've written here. And it isn't because there has been nothing to say. But because the majority of my words are mushy babble about a certain someone who fills me with bubbly joy. And as much as I know everyone WANTS to hear about the wonderful man I am with- I feel like I shouldn't just type down all the ways he makes me squee. Or maybe I should.
All the ways you make me squee
How do I squee, Let me count the ways.
I squee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I squee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I squee freely, as men strive for Right;
I squee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I squee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I squee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I squee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but squee better after death.
Adapted from "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
In all reality- he is the very first and last moment of each day. He fills me with such joy that I fell my body will burst from it. And when the day finishes and I roll into his arms and he rocks me to sleep- finally I am at peace. And he is the only one who understands that I am less then he sees in me- and accepts it. He knows the pains that live beneath my smile and instead of faltering on my sorrows he picks me up and offers me hope of a brighter future. I can't express in words the things he has done to save me- to make me whole again. And all his efforts have been without force or consequence. He simply tries to help in any way he knows how. I can't begin to number the nights he has let me cry my bitter tears into his sleeve and not judged me for their content. How many moments in my life have been made better- if only because he stands in the frame of the memory.
All the ways you make me squee
How do I squee, Let me count the ways.
I squee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I squee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I squee freely, as men strive for Right;
I squee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I squee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I squee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I squee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but squee better after death.
Adapted from "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
In all reality- he is the very first and last moment of each day. He fills me with such joy that I fell my body will burst from it. And when the day finishes and I roll into his arms and he rocks me to sleep- finally I am at peace. And he is the only one who understands that I am less then he sees in me- and accepts it. He knows the pains that live beneath my smile and instead of faltering on my sorrows he picks me up and offers me hope of a brighter future. I can't express in words the things he has done to save me- to make me whole again. And all his efforts have been without force or consequence. He simply tries to help in any way he knows how. I can't begin to number the nights he has let me cry my bitter tears into his sleeve and not judged me for their content. How many moments in my life have been made better- if only because he stands in the frame of the memory.