all beauty and great things in this world are created because one has another. if we didn’t all coexist, there would not be a need to write, a need to construct, a need to theorize. i’m starting to think that we humans only create for. we dance for. we paint for. we sing for. even the mighty taj mahal, those towers of white marble in all its grandeur, was the creation of mortal love for another.
when i think of you, words flow out of my mouth like honey, sounds dance on the soft exhale that escapes through parted lips. i dust for i clean for, hoping to find potsherds of memories in the chasms of my (un)consciousness. my feet trace your silhouette as i spin to the music in the room. i don’t even have to try.
for the only thing i’d live for
— is you.