I moved up town you know.
The other day on 74th I thought I glimpsed you from across the street. I was certain it was you and my breath caught in my chest. Then I realized I've been living like this for the last couple years, with my breath caught in my chest that way. That hard tight feeling, not a breath escaping, where nothing is permitted in, or out for that matter.
I remembered again this thing was so much bigger than me. It reminded me of that moment in your dimly lit room, your arms wrapped around my waist. I realized as I stood on the edge of your couch just how much bigger you were than me; and in turn just how big this whole thing had become.
It's moments like these when it's the subtlty that matters.
People live whole lives in the subtlties. It's those types of moments where one says nearly nothing but means almost everything. It's not the words that are said or even the amount of words spoken; it's what lays below the thin veil of words carefully crafted and uttered. Just below the surface a whole world of words and the weight of their meanings live lives all their own.
It was then you told me, my tiny form sluped forward in your arms,  "you taught me to love", and the echo behind the veil of words whispered the subtle addition, "so that I might love another."