Artificial Assurances

Once I spoke such a beautiful language that I crafted from my own yearning, born at first glance of you.

My desire for you, it sang to me, and through me, it sang to you.

And it caught you. It stopped your world from turning in the same direction. You lifted your eyes and listened to these clumsy poems of longing, beginning with hello.

And then you showed your words to me, lined them up in your own symmetry and marched them in a perfect circle to surround me.

And we sang like this and danced like this until one of us surrendered too soon. Did you follow me or did I follow you? It was magical, magical, but ...

Well, now we're in love. This is what we say. We couldn't put it off another blissful day. We've fallen and landed, and here we are stranded in love. Or at least that's what we call it.

And this language we speak, it's too familiar now. I'm sure I've heard it before. You can call me "baby" and I'll call you "my dear," and that is all that it's ever good for.

Because when you say these pop-song words to me, they barely reach my ears. And when I say them back, I think I mean them, but they feel plastic, insincere. Contrived, barely alive. Sorry, but that’s how I feel, my dear.

So don't you get too comfortable. Please don't get so comfortable. I'm tired of saying what I'm supposed to, what all the love songs told us to. No radio star or romance writer ever walked in my shoes or felt the way I feel about you. I only wanted to make the words true.

Keep our fragile language alive and let it sustain what we found inside. I didn't fall in love with love. I fell in love with you. So be you.