"Tell me more. What was it like with Emma?"
"Well." He scratched his head. "At first it was all just exciting. We liked each other, but not really in a very strong way. Sure, it meant something. But we only liked each other for the excitement we provided for each other. We were new to each other and the mysteries were fascinating. We made each other laugh and smiled until the early hours of the morning. We did this, not for one another, but for ourselves. After the excitement wore off and there was hardly any mystery left, we just annoyed each other. We saw each other making the same mistakes over and over again and never getting any better. We'd talk through all our problems like we were improving each other and the next day we'd annoy each other again. That's when she finally ended it."
"You think there's any worth in it? That all seems just . . . depressing?"
"Well, the excitement was fun and good, but it just didn't last. It never will between two people, I don't think. The second part was horrible, but I think you can find someone who will be willing to work through a relationship even while annoying each other. And maybe that's love. Instead of the excitement, a sort of sacred, quiet awe of that person. This awe, unlike the excitement, is inspiring enough to forgive and let yourself be forgiven while trying to be self-sacrificial. They are more than you, at this point, even though you don't act like it all the time. And then all that is left is worry. You know you won't stop loving her, but other things like geography or time or death might just tamper with it. So you remain silent in your worry, because you don't deserve any of this anyway, but everything is out of your hands. The best part is she will always remain who she is. There's nothing she can do really, because even if she leaves, you know she's still lovely."
"You sound like you're talking about someone specific now."
"Do I?" He looked at me like George Michael in "Careless Whisper." That scared me so I didn't press him any further.
Instead when I went back home, I tried to write a poem about what Lester talked about. I divided his ideas on love in five parts and only really came up with how to say parts three and four. I'll try to keep working on the others. So here are the two:
"This Is a Love Poem"
III.
I've never felt the profound ordination,
in the pure naturalness
of the declaration,
"It is good."
Until now.
IV.
To know me is to
know your stories.
To know me is to
be sure of your divine beauty.
To know me is to
know and be sure of
the proper hierarchy—
Your name above mine.
