Waves

And now we've done it again.

I have to be honest with you, sweetheart, it's like centuries of literature and songs and films and ... feeling suddenly make sense all at once. Every song I heard today reminded me of you, and how I feel about you. And I've heard it said before that all songs, all literature, all poetry, all human artistic expression is about love in some way or another, and on some level I've understood this, but not viscerally. Not like I do today. Not after artists and dreamers from the world over, from time immemorial have told me, in their own words, today, what it feels to be in love. And now I've finally understood.

I almost can't believe it, but with the evidence before me, as it were, I can't _not_ believe it: I've never experienced this. This is love. I thought I knew, but it was like knowing the sea from a puddle in the road. Or the sun from a candle flame. My world has been blown apart, my understanding of everything and I'm ecstatic. And I know that only days ago I would have read these words, typed by someone else, and thought I understood. Thought myself wise and worldly and experienced and nodded sagely, thinking I'd been there, done that and had nothing more to learn from this person. And I would have been wrong.

I don't know how this happened or why but I love you. I now know what love is through you, and talking to you tonight felt like coming home. Like again, I couldn't imagine _not_ talking to you. You see through my every disguise and love me for what you find underneath. And I delight in peeling away your own onion layers and doing the same, loving you more, bit-by-bit, the more I uncover. And then it's gone. And then I'm here again, alone and without you. Wrenching was the word you used and crushing would have been my first choice, but you're the better editor, so I'll defer. I'm now wrenched. Again. Just as I love you more than I know I've ever loved anyone, I now find myself missing you more than I've ever missed anyone. I can't believe this is happening, and I love it and hate it. Like waves of love and pain and joy and despair.

And now here I am going all Charlotte Bronte on you, but again, that kind of thing is something I thought I understood a long time ago, but I was wrong. I was so very wrong.