Bigger than me

I loved her with a love that was bigger than me. It filled me up until it leaked out in messy ways, embarrassing ways, lovely ways, little ways, big ways, and forever ways. I loved her with a love that could have swayed any woman, but she was not any woman. She was a ghost by the time I realized it was all over and done with. When she left the room, I was still picking out baby names for our love child. When she put me down and put me away, I was scrawling poetry for her across the sky. 

I must have been exceptionally dull or blind because she made her escape while I was dreaming about our future. When I said I wanted to marry her, she must have been terrified. When I told her I loved her, I can't even imagine how she felt. She ran from me with a purpose and speed that equaled the love I felt for her. The more I loved, the more she shrank away.  

If I could love her like this — even with the sadness mixed in — how could I love her if our hearts were one? It wouldn't change anything for me if she never returns my love or if her heart returns even in part. I am the man in the movie — the tragic character who will wander through life in love with a woman he'll never have. But it's no tragedy to me. Even the little while she loved me was worth being born into this deceitful world. I'll carry the ember of her love the rest of my days, fanning it from time to time, feeding it with rhyme and care and letters I'll never send. 

Yes, this love is bigger than me. It's movie-screen big. But what sad hack will play me? What lovely thing will play her? Oh, I've already seen the movie. I've seen the ending. It's heartbreaking but beautiful. People will love it. They'll cry. They'll say how sad it is, but they will tell everyone to see it. 

I lay awake in my bed and wonder at the thing we had. I say, "Man, did I love her," like it's a mantra. I still wonder at it. It's the thing that confounds me the most. Where did that love come from? How can such a lush tree spring out of such frozen ground? Of course, it was all inspired by her. It didn't come from anyone or anywhere else. It was her and it remains her that flipped the switch and flooded my soul. 

In the calmness of the morning, before the light has risen, I lay awake and imagine her. I can almost feel her, smell her, hold her. She's such a little part of me, but she's taken over my world. If she could do this to me with what is embedded in my heart, what could she do to me with more? If I am intoxicated without her, what would I feel with her? I'll never know. 

She is beautiful, more beautiful than any woman I've ever known. She's beyond my little world in a big way — hundreds of miles away — but it feels like she could walk into the room at any time. She's real in the most unreal way. And I wait for her like a man waits for his child to be born. 

Love is a sickness. It is a disease. And I don't want to be well. If I'm hidden away in darkness, I don't want to see the light. If this is a charade, then let it continue. I've been in love before, but never like this. It's like every cell in my body loves her. I think I couldn't love her any more than I do, but then tomorrow comes and I do. 

I'm happy. I'm content. My life hasn't turned out how I hoped, but that's okay. Some of the most tortured vines produce the best wine. So too, some of the most tortured hearts love the biggest.