Brady

It was spring time when, in an unexpected coincidence or fate's unequivocal incidence, I met my protector. He stretched his now and forever over my time schedule and surrounded every single one of my muscle fibers in his path with an eternal footprint. 
I was pacha (earth), moving on a repetitive orb, trying to avoid black holes from eradicating my subsistence and unknowingly spinning around his existence.
He appeared bright, a warm sun, impossible not to revolve around that instant when he held my hand and  obliterated our distance. His thoughts abandoned his lips and flew in my direction. I would like to say that over our heads I saw the most affluent constellation, but I was too busy attempting to discover the infinite layers of his essence in our conversation. At first, I tried to resist his affection but soon he rested easy on my morning thoughts and afternoon desires. His vivid reflection appeared on the mirrors of my mind's elation, dreams of a desired sensation.  
He was free and taught my thoughts to fly away from stress to candid sunsets over the sea. He transported me to that fine line where sun and earth meet.
 I met his body on the winter, but his soul met mine in the spring. Sun and the earth meet to give birth to life, love blooms to give meaning to breath. 
Now that initial surprise has passed, but my heart remains aghast, his love is vast and every day it multiplies. 
He still looks at me with his aquatic irises, core and jewels of my vision. He still makes my heart skip a beat and interrupts the rhythmic routine of my breath by stealing it for a second, but now he infiltrates two words that change everything. He enunciates "te amo" through lips that my future appropriates and in a language that my past recognizes.  In that second of blissful elation, I recognize those words as the panacea for pain. 
I feel the present, I feel alive, I am abducted from a world of trivial sentences that seem to run erratically with no interesting meaning, direction, goal, or even a punch line, to a parallel universe where words find their identity in feeling. 
He loves me and I finally feel like I truly belong somewhere; my body and his arms fit like two pieces of a puzzle that don't fit in with the rest of the puzzle, but fit so perfectly with each other that they have lost interest in being part of he bigger picture. 
Perfect microcosm, we are fragments that complete each other and the rest is unnecessary embellishment. 
My blood rushes somewhere in between the "te" and the "amo" that emanate from his lips like water falling from a cascade. 
Beautiful, the way he makes me feel when he runs his fingertips through my hair and looks at me like there is no other woman he would rather paint a path to eternity with. 
In this second, in which I can feel his soul's roots growing in my veins, I love the way he makes happiness blossom from a dirty swamp of nothingness; my sweet lotus love.


-Beauty in its rarest form-