“Because I love you”

not for the first time during our trek through life together

you regarded me with crystalline irises

so near their melting point 

anyone else would have braced themselves for an oncoming waterfall 

but I knew better —

or rather,

you taught me

to look again

at the world

through a renewed filter,

not quite rosy lenses 

but far from the dingy grey we often become accustomed to 

in the midst of the hail pellets tipped with self-loathing and shame

and again at your lips

as they crinkle against gravity 

in a direction only you are capable of

to embrace the days as they come

swooping in —

sometimes missing their target 

or hitting their mark, 

only to find it off key,

off expectation,

off —

and slither into treacherous gloom 

paved with a more hospitable path 

founded on your confidence in me

and most importantly,

to embrace you

as your unwavering voice acquires trembling undertones

and glaciers thin to a trickle of confounded elation

in a firm yet watery encircling of arms, shoulders, cheeks, softly tangled hair

and yet you hold in question

why I would take such care

to tend your petit blossoms of positive self-reflection

in their multitudinous hues of vibrant violets and balmy turquoise traces 

subtler navy blues and compassionate scarlet streaks

— the same ones, I imagine,

that run through your heart 

painting a temperate and beautiful warmth 

that courses through the frozen October haze —

because I love you.

or why I’ll sit beside you during any time at all

be it a sweltering afternoon sagging under stress’s weight

the brisk hours trailing a subdued sunset 

or in the fringes of early dawn 

as color again seeps into the sky —

because I love you.

why I’ll give you heart and hand without a single glance

or thought that they’ll one day be returned

and quite truthfully I hope they aren’t —

because I love you.

the same three words repeated, molded, shaped by your own gentle hands,

words that rose with the tide in your eyes

as truth poured out

into my arms as I held you,

as you held me 

up from sorrow’s sticky tar

allowing me once again to breathe,

regardless of the thorn pricks —

they’re a steep improvement from bullet wounds —

you make me grateful to be alive 

and with every ounce of my capacity

I’ll try to achieve the same for you, mon amie —

because I love you

and I'll remind you every time you need it,

even when you don't