If you were to ask me why I love you, that would be the one question so hard to answer. And then the fear you don’t believe because it doesn’t flow with ease. But, if you were to ask those other ones, the answers arrive with barely a thought. How? With every breath of my being. I can just as easily answer where. Everywhere. And, so it goes with when. All the time. But, why is a tough one. Because it feels it always was. I love your personal quirks and idiosyncrasies. But that can’t be it, because if you take those away, the love is still there. It can’t be your looks, because I’ve already imagined you growing very very old, and my heart still aches to be near you. The why must be somewhere else. It brings out so many of my whys of my own. Why is it simply the thought of you touches me more deeply than the being with another? Why is it I feel like all this magic happens in the air of angels rushing in to assist in ways I’ll never know if my goal is simply to get a message through that could lift you? I might as well ask why a flower grows. Why does a moth feel such yearning to be immolated by the flame? Nothing will stop the moth in that pursuit, even though it’s obviously to his own detriment when observed by the casual outsider. But, maybe the moth knows what she or he is doing. She is burned up by the flame to become something else. Something greater than its previous form. That dying to rise up into something greater that we celebrate especially on a day like this one. It comes from not a physical birth. But the birth of the heart. The birth of compassion. The birth of love. And in you I find a source of that birth because you make me better. That rising up feeling in a world where so much said and done is meant to bring one down. You’re a touchstone. A beacon of light. And it’s not by accident. It had to be you. My heart said so. And it knows when my mind scatters about looking for answers that make more sense. The mind says yes to a million other shiny thoughts and ideas that should surely bring more comfort, but the heart gently, lovingly says, “No, it’s right there,” pointing to your beauty, which is so impossible to ignore. It takes such a confidence. A thousand others flirting at you, vying for you, even if so much more lazily. The knowledge of your importance in this world. I would come to you as a beggar before a queen. So perhaps I don’t come at all. And that thought should bring pain, but it doesn’t. Your light is still here. That inspiring in me. It gets me to clean a room today. It gets me to improve my appearance in some way. It gets me to loving myself. It gets me to wonder. That deep wonder. Because you *are* magic. That magic that writes books and launches ships. That birth of the heart comes from you. I can be a vehicle of that love to pass on to others. And in doing so something in me is changed. It carves me out. All that ego and pride and self-importance gets whittled away. Empty so something much newer and warmer can take its place in me. I don’t have to search for the gentleness of your soul because your power is lent to me through the arms of angels. If never we meet, know how deeply you touch me. It doesn’t matter if you swear or curse or whatever comes from the top layer. The heart sees the wondrous soul in you, through that meeting of the eyes. That’s the deeper stuff. Happening beneath the surface, behind the scenes. I love you. And I don’t want a thing from you. You’ve already given me more than I can ever express. Wishing you love on a day like this one. That something or someone may touch you so deeply you feel your own bit of rebirth, and that feeling of rising up. Into someone better than when you were last found. There’s all sorts of magic happening. ❤️