Last night the moon shone through the window, and the light laid like a blanket on your bare back; illuminating the indent of your spine, highlighting the dimples at the bottom of its curvature.
I remember in such detail how the light touches you the way I always wished to have the tenderness to.. Nay, the strength. Completely, yet without entitlement- confidently, but with the understanding, that, although it revealed the beauty, it was not the source of it. That with or without the moons presence, you'd still be exquisite and of your own belonging. But the heart of man was different, much different. It stood absolute in its own understanding of love, though flawed and corrupt. It spoke through filters of cracked perfection and insecurity. It asked not of your beauty, but proclaimed it as its own. The only way to release such control was to realize we never had any to begin with. To surrender to appreciation, which exposes beauty, and to deny the act of possession, which only ever stifles it.
Last night the moon shone through the window and laid delicately across you; in the beauty of the moment I saw not only the way the moon exposed you, but the boundless extent of your soul. I realized you were far too beautiful to ever be of me. You were your own work of art, and in that moment, I truly loved you.
Daily Dad Joke #11:
What’s the big deal about Switzerland?
I don’t know, but the flag is a huge plus!