The Philosopher’s Attic

There’s a hand lingering on my brow in a forgotten idea and the sun on the walls.

When I look at you, that look holds all the world.
When you look at me, I believe that I could be that other woman.
The stronger one, the lighter one. The fighting one. The one that I am not.
The one I wished to be … for you.

Loving you is like a sweet spring rain on cold ground,
more refreshing and resourcing than anything physical can ever be.
Loving you is like a prophetical air that never comes to pass,
where newness and expectation never cease.
Loving you is the closest thing I get to the divine.

Whenever there’s that hand… your hand… resting on my face, I almost believe that I could take on the whole world.

Nothing is easier than loving you.