You think in straight lines that are always on a mission to get somewhere.
Somewhere very specific and precise
and sensible and never at a
loss for logic.
It's straightforward, this process, but
not always user-friendly
(which you like because
what the befuddled masses avoid
makes for shorter lines.
No crowds, no clutter).
My thoughts are curvier.
They're doing cartwheels and scenic-routes and curlicues and
getting stuck in parade traffic,
borrowing a hat and horn and skipping along for awhile
to inaudible beats,
and then swerving into...
oh, look, I think maybe it's a poem.
And when poem-minded girls
wallpaper the empty Altoids tins
with scraps of last month's O mag,
and Astronomy Today (yours),
they forget about
checking the oil
and the tire pressure.
Just so you know:
I know that you are extraordinary
just for putting up with me in your space.
And the space you have conceded to
fancy pillows we don't really sleep on.
People with brilliant brains
don't always tolerate
the fanciful,
but you! You...
Thank you.
Thank you for pretending
that an orange and blue striped dining room
makes perfect sense.
Thank you for noticing the wild tiger lilies
and thinking about how much I would love them, and then
wading out into unidentified weeds with a pocket knife
to hack down the perfect bouquet,
protected flora laws be damned!
Thank you for remembering that
sometimes when a nine year old wants the real brand,
seeing her smile about breakfast cereal is
more important than
buying the logical generic and
being the smart saver that you are.
Thank you for a fantastical
baby blue bike
with real fenders,
and a wicker basket,
and foot brakes
(even though,
"Who spends that kind of money on
a bike that doesn't even have gears?").
Thank you for knowing without ever even being told
that when I'm taking my bath at night
(for which you often light the candles! Are you real?!)
it's the perfect time for you to watch
Adam Sessler ('s dumb shoulder pads)
and Morgan Webb ('s obnoxious boobs).
Or Cleveland Brown and that pointless, confusing bear.
Zillions and Brazilians.
That's how many things I could list here.
Twelve brown Brazilians.
There is no proper logical place to end this.
But, it's (sort of like) a poem,
and it's from my brain,
so you already know that logic really isn't involved, right?
I hope you can appreciate it anyway.
If I were in your brain,
I'd write it in some kind of quadratic equation,
or ASCII code, or something,
and you would understand it immediately,
and it would be so beautiful it would bring a tear to your eye.
But all I have is words.
Lots of cluttery,
silence-polluting (well...screen-polluting),
fancy, no-need-for-that words.
And more love, admiration, and gratitude
than words could ever, ever convey.
There just aren't words for that in any mortal language.
So, maybe you're right even about words.
Sometimes, they just don't make sense.
But, I love you anyway,
and just wanted to
try to let you know.
:)
