Masquerade

I fell in love with you
between the ordinary moments
of living.
I watched how your muscles flexed
as you picked out a song
on your guitar
and how your eyes flashed
when you held
your ferocity for justice
at bay.
These are the times,
in the middle of the night,
when I awake
realizing that I love you.
It wasn’t a big fall
or some height-defying leap
from a cliff into unknown waters.
It was slow
and easy
and held between your fingers
the way my hands curled into yours.
The way your laugh
pierced the fog of my sadness
and the way you kissed me–
as if my lips were water to a dying man.
The tiny moments
of magic
when you taught me
how to play dominoes
or when you bought me
that styrofoam cup,
all the time knowing
it would be the last thing
we both touched.
All these little pieces
add up to big love,
the kind you swallow fire
or win battles for.
And I am ablaze
for those tiny pieces
like your bare torso,
bright with freckles
in starry constellations.
You have enkindled all
that I ever dreamed love could be
by allowing the big moments
to masquerade as small ones
and letting me love all the parts
sitting in the space
between living and life.

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