He's on a pedastal, he's in my arms...
I'm in love with two men.
One, I know, almost better than I know myself. I know his secrets and his fantasies, his triumphs and failings. I know his past and his present, and I look forward to his future. I know his aspirations, the few he has, both the practical and the impossible. I know what he wants, I know what he dreads.
I know the way he smiles, differently for all situations. I know how he looks when he first wakes up in the morning, hair mussed and hazel eyes cloudy. I know how he looks when sleep puts weights on those eyes, how his voice dips in tone and comes from the throat, music to me, the sweetest I've heard. I know when he had his first kiss, where every scar, emotional and physical, came from, and what his mother wants for him in life. I know what his favorite song is, what he eats on his pizza. I know about his passion for words and his loathing of ignorance. I know about his quest for greatness and his dance with insanity.
I know how he loves, fiercely and at the same time so cautiously, with the naive hope that it will all work and the paralyzing fear that it all will be taken away from him.
I know he is good, light in a world that would plunge him into shadows.
I know how he hurts, how he grieves, and how he cries when no one knows it.
I know how he touches, how he protects, how he believes.
I know who he is, the core and soul of him.
I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I love him.
I just don't know how.
The other, I could hardly tell you so much. I know nothing of his history, his family, his friends. I don't know his favorite color, if he played sports in high school, or if he ever had a broken bone. I don't know his shoe size, his birthday, or the name of his first pet. I don't know what his tastes are in movies, where his ancestors are from, if he ever watched cartoons. I don't know if he's been through tragedy or if his life's been full of sunshine. I don't know who his first love was, I don't know who he respects, who he adores, or who he avoids.
I don't know his middle name.
But I know every shift in his body when he sleeps, the sound he makes when he's annoyed, the dreamy look he gets in his eyes when he talks about politics. I know he can dance, or he thinks he can. I know his eyes change color, from slate to coal, in the heat of passion. I know he snorts sometimes when he laughs, and that he lowers his voice around his friends so he feels better about himself. I know he never stands up straight, and that his hair is always too long.
I know I'm attracted to him, I like him, I care for him.
I think I love him. But there are- doubts.
And yet...
Can I feel something true for the man in my arms when the man on the pedestal keeps smiling at me like that?
Peace.