My love arrived for a short visit bearing books for my home.

Lost as I was in a haze of happiness and need and desire, I didn’t acknowledge his gifts as I should have.  Two of the books came directly off his bookshelf; one, in particular, is thumbworn and obviously much-loved.  Because he’s someone who eschews most material possessions except for his books, his gifts were truly extensions of his heart.

After he left tonight, I began thumbing through the books instead of focusing on my yoga homework.  I found myself particularly drawn to the poetry collection, the contents within speaking to my overflowing soul.  One poem, which he had once quoted to me, was bookmarked, whether by accident or design:

My true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for another given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven:
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
 
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me it bides:
My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 

-Sir Philip Sidney

My love holds my heart in his heart; I know I hold his as well.  But tonight I sensed conflict and sadness in him.  It hurt my loving heart to recognize this, to witness the fleeting concerned expressions flicker across his face as unwelcome thoughts intruded.

When we are together, my own senses collide, transforming me into someone who loves without words, without reason, without coherent thought.  As much as I adore our long silences, the blending and drifting peacefully into each other, I sometimes wish I could speak more easily, to find words that convey the perfect mixture of honesty, love, concern and understanding.

For now, we hold each others’ hearts carefully, tenderly and lovingly.  And even though I know storm clouds loom on the horizon, for now, it is enough.

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