My reply to a beautifully written love letter I once received from a love that was most amazing and too short-lived.

I hear your unspoken words. Your truths - your pain, your joy.
I hear you. I understand you.

Speak to me.

I listen. I hear. I feel.

I feel.

I feel.

I am not able to speak well myself - I am fearful, I tremble, my voice is soft and without confidence. Barely a whisper. I am afraid.

Speak to me how you will. I listen. I hear. I feel.

Maybe you are human after all - maybe you are the scent of the fallen magnolia - glorious and fragrant with the silly droplet releasing your aroma of humanness to the air and beyond. To me where I am intoxicated with your scent as it draws deeply into my lungs and fills my mind with feelings of rapture. Maybe that is being human.

Maybe I understand growing old in want to give my love away but finding no takers. No worthy recipients - wanting. Wanting and feeling. Desperate to give of myself. Maybe I understand this state of yellow indeed.

Were you to raise my eyes to your lips - I would see that you are real - your whisper landing in my eyes like hot tears - understood. Believed. Heard. You are real - I feel you close to my face - I feel your truth.

Maybe I feel your deep black eyes upon me - maybe their caress, felt only as a fragrance, will speak to me when you cannot talk. Maybe I hear your eyes as they speak to me the way only eyes can. Maybe I feel the heat from your gaze. Maybe I will be unable to look away as I listen to you - as I hear you in my soul.

Maybe I would want you to hold me closer to you - maybe I would melt into you effortlessly, feeling your hands speak to me listening to your arms. Hearing your heartbeat. I hear you. You need not say a word and yet, you speak to me and I - I hear you.

Maybe you would listen to me and hear my pains, my sorrows, my guilt, my truths - maybe I would then be left with nothing on my mind - but maybe I would not wish to fly away into that blue sky - maybe it will be raining and I will need to stay a moment. Soul bared and vulnerable - but still listening, still hearing. And yes, still feeling...Maybe you would want me to take my leave in flight - maybe you have nothing left to say now that you have heard me...

Maybe in your yellowness, you would be as Van Gogh would wish to picture a daffodil. Beautiful. Standing straight and confident. Bringing a joyous hue of yellow to the fading brown of winter. Maybe...maybe.

Unmake me. I can handle indifference. Unmake me. I will swim

Just love. Just because. Those are words enough, are they not?

All your yellow words sound to me like you. Whatsoever, Whosoever that may be. I have listened to them, I have heard them. I can feel them.

I love the way I feel in your yellowness.