Hi.
I’m writing you this letter to let you know all the things that nobody told me about the heart you’ve stumbled upon.
He likes his filter coffee milky but not sweet. Here’s the catch, he’s embarrassed to say so because he doesn’t want to be made fun of by the barrister at the shop at the corner of Ninth and Main because he lowkey has a man crush on him and wouldn’t want him to think any less of his manliness. So, order for him. And order half and half. No sugar. Giggle to your heart’s content when he orders for himself and curses as he sips until it’s over. It’s how he lives his life – revelling in the pain.
He must learn.
He’s not a morning person. No matter what he says. Let him sleep in some days so he can recharge his bones and reset his soul. He never lets himself slow down and he’ll pretend to be mad that you silenced the alarm when he finally emerges just after noon with clear eyes and a slow smile that can only be attributed to a comfortable bed, or thorough loving, but secretly, everything in him is tingling, and rejuvenated.
Hand him the coffee.
When he comes in after a long day and starts venting, he’s not looking for solutions or participation. Stand there and listen with your eyes on his beautiful face. Let him strip off the weight of the day and hand it to you, word after word, for you to scatter across the floor and shatter into little pieces of frustration he didn’t know he was carrying. Feel every sigh and catch the heaviness that the world stealthily loaded into his system whilst he was busy. Listen also, for the things he doesn’t say. Those have been the straws that broke many a camel’s back.
Touch him. Often.
He is afraid of the darkness and leaves the lights on in every room. You’ll always know he’s at home by the blinding florescent globes that glow from the kitschy lamps he spends his money on after hours spent poring over webpages that promise personalisation and understated elegance. You may have to hide his credit card. The lights chase away a darkness he ordered before my time. We have a sad boy. Had. I had a sad boy.
Tell him you love him, when you do. Often.
Hearts like his exist to be responsible for themselves and are left unsure that they deserve love. Pour it out over him. Drench him with it. Never let a spot dry, even as you chase the sun. Take the love he wants to give but is hesitant to let slip from his closed fist. Pry it open and breathe it in. But. Defend yourself with everything you have, because this love will engulf you and suffocate you. It will hand you flowers and euphoria daily on silver plates and with warm bread on the side. It will let you fly without a parachute and you will be only too happy to spread your arms and follow where it takes you. Be vigilant, or you will wake up like me, a little disoriented and alone, but with the best aftertaste in your mouth – of fresh air and crushed berries. With vague memories of brilliant supernovas and a warmth that you will search for but never again find. It will be the best love you will ever fall into. Never stop swimming in it. Trust its motion, even when the waters feel troubled. Hang onto the rails when the storms come because the calm after that?
The stuff of poetry.
The Empress.
The Empress' Musings 