Treasures from Medieval York - The Cawood SwordHow do I tell you the secrets of my heart? How do I tell you the indescribable truth? How do I describe the beauty of this moment?

This is how.

I plant my sword in the ground and stand firm against the tide. I hold your hand. I lessen the load when your day has been hard. I cook our meals when you are too tired to stand. I warm you when the cold has battered your mind.

I hold a torch when you want to explore the dark areas. I hold a rope when you want to climb. I catch you when you fall.

I live simply as to not distract us from our truth. I listen to your thoughts and hold them dear, even when we disagree. I see you as you are, and love you for the way you fly freely. I smile when I hear your laughter even if I can’t see you hidden among the clouds.

I shed tears with you, and become an oak for you to lean. I let you pick me up when I fall, dust me off when I am dirty, and bathe me when the mood suits you. I fold your clothes when you aren’t looking, wash the dishes while you rest, sweep the floor before you start looking for the broom.

I caress your skin when you can’t sleep, rub your shoulders when the aching starts, move the hair from your eyes when I need a shot of living. I never let you forget how beautiful you are, and I experience joy in the way you talk, the way you think, and the way you are.

I hold you tightly when the sadness comes, and help hold your head above water when the torrents rain down upon us. I clear the brush so you can see the Sun and let you rest you head upon my chest as we watch the Moon rise above the mountains. I stay silent so you can hear the bubbling of a crystal stream as we sit enjoying the simplicity of it all.

I find equal pride as I gaze upon our footprints in the sand, even in the times when it is you who have carried me. I love the hills that we climb, the trails we blaze together, and the puddles we jump into with reckless abandon.

Sometimes words are only words. They fail us. They don’t answer the question. They don’t tell the truth. They simply are not enough.

Sometimes words are just too wordy.

Sometimes you need to do the things you wish to say. Sometimes you need to be the sermon, preach by deed, and lead by example. Sometimes telling you how much I love you is not enough. Sometimes all I’ll have to do is touch you, and you’ll never need a word.

I want to be the love I wish you to see. I want to be the one who stands tall, love’s sword in hand, ready to do battle. Sometimes you find strength in the hand that holds the hilt, and sometimes you find strength in the hand that lets it go.

And I have. And you will. Until we meet again.

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