She is me. I saw myself in her eyes, the first time I looked. And she is not me. I felt her in my eyes, the first time she looked. And for that second I thought of clouds, infinite and fluffy and all around us, in waves of white. I didn’t note the color of her hair or eyes or soul, but I saw her.
And I loved her.
And I loved me.
For as I fell for her I fell for myself. So deep in love, so scared to fall and hit the ground and never touch those clouds again. So scared to loose that simple feeling, where love was light, and my very soul and hers blended, and mixed, and we were one in that tiny space where it was just us and conversation and focus.
And she became the highlight of my day.
And she became the highlight of my mind.
And she became the highlight of my heart.
Until those clouds became my heart, and she settled there, nesting like a feathered thing, and replacing the beating mess of red pain I’d grown there.
And I felt the distance between us, like a bird on a limb, close or far, with little know how to fly. And my wings did not grow enough to sustain flight, for I was too young. And her wings did not grow to a span large enough to bear her weight. And I doubted it entered her mind she could fly.
But I waited, and cuddled her heart in my chest, and I waited, for the return of regard, and I waited to grow enough to fly, feeding on the wind and stars and darkness between the stars and the endless sunlight. And I grew some, but not enough, and I could not measure her wingspan but from my view it did not increase.
And despair settled over me, as well as love. For my heart reflects me, like a mirror, like a pool, like the mockery of the air carrying birdsong between the trees.
And if she is me, when I look into her soul and love it so very much, how can I not love myself? How can I not carry that feeling to the higher air and scream out the triumph of my joy? How can I not fly when all the world awaits to be seen?
For love is the very heart of me now, and love becomes me, and love enlightens my soul to infinite decay of what is gone and should not be and is not of the above.
My mockingbird, so close and so far.
I feel the love I bear thee.
And I rejoice, for when I fly, so will you know the sky. For I will bear your heart to the heavens with me, and we will see the light.