I waffled over posting this:
Su Ying;My inability to describe you in words is not actually my inability to describe you in words, it's your ability to make me speechless, to lay waste to my gift and make it useless, like a wild tiger attacks its prey.
The night we met was the first night I left the ghost of an old love behind; I could hear it knocking at the door of my heart, but this time i wouldn't let it in. The night we met was the first night I stopped making comparisions and just let myself stare without abandon into the eyes of warmth, silently stoking a motionless fire. The night we met was the first night I let go of my insecurities and let myself freefall into life, throwing off that which helf me safe and sound...and alone. The night we met was the first night I felt someone look at me the same way I looked at them: with respect, admiration, and lust. The night we met was the first night I uttered the word "girlfriend" and felt it echo within me, reverbirating off my sousl walls, and I was scared because it could come true, and I liked it, I liked the fear because it was something I had never felt before.
Because, you see, the night we met was the last night I let myself be chained to the walls that weren't there as I was assaulted by the beasts of "wish-I-would-have's" and "self-doubt". It was the last night I let my past haunt me. I took the safety off my gun, loaded it, and handed it to you, and in the process I risked the safety of the life I knew.
My inability to describe you in words is not actually my inability to describe you in words it's just your ability to make me speechles, and the only thing I can write about is how you've changed me, because my pen is insuffiecent to capture you, to put you in a cage of ideas and thoughts, as if to tame you. The caged tiger eventually loses its splendor. Sometimes the best way to appreciate art is to let it act upon your senses and hear the music of what it has to say; to feel the colours and hear the brush strokes as if the painting is a symphony for the senses. My darling Su, you remind me that silence is part of music to, everytime you derail my train of thoughts when it gets going too fast, out of control with speed and intensity, and you say "Can't there just be silence?"...and you unviel yourself to me, as if you were a book to open for the first time. I read your face, your emotions in silence, as you study me, learning every curve, crevice, and crease. The greatest work of art, the greatest masterpiece, is not a painting, a song, or a sculpture, it is love. Su, you are painting, sculpting, and composing it everyday when you brush my face with your hand, admire the colour of my eyes, and sing my name...You are creating a masterpiece. My inability to write you in words is not a failing of my ability to write, it is your uncageable, untameable, and indescribable nature
posted by That Canadian Guy @ 3:32 p.m.
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