I want to be alive to be with you. I’ll stay so we can prepare tea together. You wash the dented pot. I set the kettle to sing. We stare at the herbs and petals waiting to be submerged. You pour the hot water, bringing them to life. You make them more than they were before. 

There are things I think I know. How to open pistachios, spades are high in Chinese poker, never cross a picket line. And then I hear you sing the words to my favorite song. Lyrics I have sung a thousand times before when I felt blue, bored, or carefree. I think I know a thing. I learn its mettle. And then you sing my song, and it takes on new meaning. I am falling and flying; I’m looking down without fear and looking up to feel your grace. 

The basket of things I do not know is piled high. Books adorned with foreign glyphs, why our dog lays under the same tree every day, how to talk about depression. You unwind the strips of willow joining the bottom of my basket. Without intention, simply moving through the world, you show me that I know how to be loved. You gingerly bandage my cut hand and kiss it lightly. You build me up to those around us. When I feel lit up and turn towards you, without a moment’s hesitation, you’re in. And I burn brighter. 

If you lose your mind to the cold violence and desperate hurt of this world, I will follow you into madness. The most important thing my mind ever did was choosing you, so I can happily leave it behind. Its work is finished. We can drink midnight coffee topped with pixie sticks. Let’s bellow back at the gathering thunderclouds for scaring our dog. We can play our instruments ‘til our fingers bleed. I no longer need reasons. I’m only interested in making you laugh and holding you close. You make me feel true. You free my soul.