I need you so much closer. Ben Gibbard’s lonely love lyrics bleed through the white speakers placed by the illumined white crown molding in the corners of Crooked Tree Coffee House’s yellow room, my favorite room. Sunlight is pouring through the fully bared South window into the yellow room. It rolls over the blue, green, and yellow striped couch and reflects like heaven off of the wooden tiled table upon which I have set my vanilla chai tea latte. Outside, cars drive by slowly on Routh. The trees sway to the music. So come on---- come on------. The multitude of limbs are fraught with eager branches encased in the foliage of their dark red leaves. Red is everywhere. Red are the leaves and the lights. Red is my love for you and every beautiful thing I see makes me love you, and God, that Great Mystery, more than I can say. Red are my lips and the Dallas paintings on the wall. If I had the income, I would purchase the largest painting, not for the sake of its size, but because of its scope, because of the thick red stripes painted across the reflective water near the Old Red Museum. Remember I said that I would like to go there with you? Yes, I think that would be nice. In the painting the clouds are dark purple.
I love you like the perfectly curled scrolls on the eclectic bronze lamp to my right. I love you like the hints of dark blue in the bubbly azure glass of the lamp on the corner table. I love you like the sun hitting the oatmeal woven rug. I love you like the red leaves waving, waving, waving. I love you like familiar harmonies and our secret stories and characters that sneak across my mind and call me away from my writing. I love you like mathematical perfection. I love you like the twelve basic colors. I love you like warmth.
I love you through your writing. I love you through your poetry. I love you in the rhyme and meter of your breathing. I love you in the green of your eyes. I love you in your fastidiousness. I love you in your laugh and in your strength.
I’ll love you in the rain, in this thick sunshine, in the pines, in the hills, in the city, down the sidewalk, down the lane, in the dance of falling leaves, in the sigh of falling snow, in the gasp of flowers blooming, in the hot relief of summer.
Conversation and thoughts. All around me are people working. People. Good and loving and working people. People with ideas and passions and responsibilities. And today they are all beautiful. Especially the ones whom I keep distracting by looking up at that huge painting that is hanging on the yellow wall behind them. Oh, life! It is good.