You’re my favorite subject. And the subject is vast. There is so much I don’t know about it. But, it’s okay, as I don’t imagine I will ever master the subject, nor is that a goal. I might already be an armchair expert, though, in that I can talk extemporaneously on the subject of you if anyone asked. That documentary you love, or your feelings on sports. The surface stuff that maybe points a little to the deeper. The deeper is more interesting, of course. It’s where the mysteries are. Somebody might tell you to find a new subject, because you’ll never master this one. You’ll never be a success at the subject of your passion. But, you’ve got your bliss right here. Why would you give up your passion simply because it won’t bring some imagined result? The result is the passion. The result is the bliss. If that deep feeling and happiness is at the perceived end of any goal you lay down, then you already got it right here! There she is! Let the chips fall where they may, because you aren’t looking at the chips. You’re looking at her. And it always makes you so happy. Nobody tells the painter to paint something less beautiful, something that doesn’t bring out the passion, simply because he can’t marry his painting. That certainly would be painful! The painter worth her salt wouldn’t listen, anyway. It comes from the heart, not the mouths of others who didn’t follow their own truest heart’s calling. You’ve got it right here! I could talk about other things, but I always want to come back to my favorite subject. I love learning the different shades of your smiles. The many ways you might look at someone. There’s the leaning-in-hands-folded “I’m giving you my full attention” move. There’s the “I’m listening, but I’m also somewhere else, but you can’t tell because you’re not the nut who has studied my every move” move. I know that look!! Well, go figure, of course. I’m the nut. And, when I see you it’s all I can do not to not immediately look to find a place to write about you. I don’t know what’s coming, but there is a welling up in my chest, and I know that means it’s all going to pour out. Some of it chaff to get to the wheat of it. But, you always bring that wonderful feeling. I die so many little deaths when I look into your eyes. And I feel love so strong that it bursts out of me and fills the space around, so much so it’s like I now have nerves that extend three feet beyond me. And an insatiable urge to hug you. If it can’t be you, a pillow. Myself. Something! And just pretend it is you. Because it’s this silly, all-encompassing, melting-over-parts-of-myself love pouring out all over. It’s magical. It’s mystical. It’s over the top. It’s on the down low. And it’s just everywhere you are. The best I can do is just write it out, however it is those pulsations in my heart find their way up my throat and into my head and down through my fingers, tapping furiously away on a keyboard. It’s such an odd process, but it’s the only one I got. The only way I can tell you how simply other-worldly magnificent you are. You light up the room, to the extent the other rooms get jealous and say, “Well, I’d like to light up like that, too.” You light up my heart wherever I go. And I want to tap the person next to me wherever I am, and tell her all about you and how wonderful you are. I don’t, of course. That might be a lil’ too crazy, and I’ve been warned to tone down the crazy. But, when it’s real, it’s big. It’s also small, finding its way into little corners of me. Just a moment of remembering a look you gave, a nod. And a little place in my heart tugs. And that tug sends out a warm gushing feeling that pervades. And I feel this euphoria that nothing in the gray world can provide. And here you don’t think you give me anything! Oh, you do. All the time. I’m not always crazy. Full-time crazy takes a lot of work. And, Lord knows I can be a little work shy. So there are moments of appearing normal. I see you. Hmmm, there she is. Calmness. Well, … look at that, boy! You’re not climbing the walls. See? You can be like those normal people around you after all. Why, this is nothing! I could talk to her about stock reports or weather updates, and add in a really ridiculous thing like, “So, how is this China trade war going to turn out, anyway?” And the eyes kind of glaze over subtly. There’s that, “Oh, we’re going to talk about the weather, … what a shame, … but show no disappointment as I move into that mode of speak now.” But, then the overtaking happens. And the alerts go off all over my body, sent down from my head: “False alarm! We’re going into full giddy love mode. Dispel stock talk! Cancel weather alerts! Uncross legs, and undo fake pondering! Full meltdown!! Run, boy, run!!!” … But, it’s not always that way. I can fake normal with practice. I can go to an event and even see a former president, and nod and chuckle, all at the appropriate moments, and give myself a big inner hug: “Look at you! Being all normal like these normal people! If you get any more normal, they’re going to give you an award for being the most normallest of them all. They might even start calling you Norm!” But then somebody says something that reminds me of a something you said and the very real world and real people kind of fade and I’m in this place of dreaming of you. If it makes me happy, so what. And, it does! Every time. I’ve got this whole thing figured out! Look at all the money I’m saving on dinners out, really! And rings. And trips. And big surprise special gifts just because the day ends in a “y.” And, she hasn’t *once* yelled at me (well, not in person, anyway), or lectured me, or told me to sit a certain way. I mean, she’s the most perfect woman in the world, isn’t she!! Why, this little setup I’ve stumbled upon could go on for years! It might get a little complicated if somebody new comes in. I mean, all these posts probably aren’t helping there. But, eh! Just, eh! (The “eh!” here is pronounced in a hybrid of my Italian side with a touch of Lithuanian Jew, as in, you raise your shoulders, extend out your hands like you’re about to catch a ball – one you’ll probably drop – and give a head-tilted quizzical “What are you gonna do? It is what it is, so I’ll take it. Do I really have a choice in this thing?” … In other words, “Eh!”) So what if it prevents this or that or the other thing. Again, it’s that wheat from the chaff stuff. You’ve found your bliss. That thing that flies you over the moon, and a few of Jupiter’s too for good measure! Just the thought of her. That’s all. It’s like there’s this little secret that not enough people have heard! It’s that you can have your bliss without actually having a thing. You can enjoy a team without having ownership rights, or a home without having property rights. Or today’s weather without believing the ten-day forecast. Because it’s where the magic in you is happening. You’ve identified it. If you aren’t sure, it reminds you. Oh, boy, does it remind you. And you feel alive just by the memory of her gaze. The guy next to me might get a text that his her is suddenly available. He jumps up gleefully and runs out into the street to tell the world and gets hit by a bus. Meanwhile my her hasn’t budged, and might never budge, but not *one* bus has touched me, and I still get to be happy in my bliss. Okay, that’s a stretch, but you get the idea. I feel like in every girl I ever crushed on my soul saw pieces of you. Then I saw you. And, that was it. I don’t worry about the extended forecast. I’m in my bliss right here. And it lights up the room! Thank you for simply being out there. And in here. I’ve got my bliss. ❤️ … *“Eh!”*