I wish, I wish, I wish.
Not long ago, the writer of these lines, In the mad pride of intellectuality, Maintained "the power of words"--denied that ever A thought arose within the human brain Beyond the utterance of the human tongue: And now, as if in mockery of that boast, Two words--two foreign soft dissyllables- Italian tones, made only to be murmured By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill," Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart, Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought, Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions Than even seraph harper, Israfel, (Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,") Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken. The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand. With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee, I cannot write--I cannot speak or think- Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling, This standing motionless upon the golden Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams. Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista, And thrilling as I see, upon the right, Upon the left, and all the way along, Amid empurpled vapors, far away To where the prospect terminates--thee only. -Edgar Allen Poe, "To--"
To where the prospect terminates -- thee only.
You've been my anchor and my angel, my love and my life. You've been everything to me - everything that is good, everything that is right, everything that gives me hope for the future and lets me let go of my past.
You've held me when I cried. You've loved me and laughed with me, you've been there no matter what I do, no matter what happens to me. I've screamed at you - you've taken it. I've accused you and slighted you, spurned you and wounded you - and you have come back to hold me, knowing that I hurt you because I trust you more than life.
I wish I didn't. I wish I wouldn't. I wish, I wish, I wish. I wish I lived up to the impossible standards of perfection I demand that I achieve. I wish that I were half as giving and forgiving as you have been to me. I wish...I wish I could hold the perfect moments in my hands for eternity, hold them up to a living sun and send crystal reflections of light all around forever.
I wish...if everyone in the world had someone one-tenth as perfect for them as you are for me, there would be no more hurt anywhere. I wish - I hope- I try - to be something near to that...
Which is why, when I fail, it hurts so much. And even more when, failing, I watch you crumple and weep, want to stop my words...but they beat and they press and they rage against my mind. And I say them. And I hate myself for it.
I want to lift you up, to bear you even higher, angel. I want my words to be nothing but a reflection of the light you have brought to my life. I want my words to be hope and love and life...and I want them to inspire you and to fill your dreams, echo through your days. I want you to know, to never doubt, that I love you as you are, that I love everything that you have been and will become, that every thing you say and do is precious to me.
Infinitely precious. Infinitely vital. The love that we have is amber and diamond, the heart of an unopened rose. And I wish that somehow, some way, I could keep this mortal world of cares and suffering from drawing its sullied hands across those reflections. I wish somehow...somehow I could keep it precious, sheltered, away from all that is rough and harsh and painful...
But I know I can't. And I know that the very reason I want to protect it is the thing that ties us together: because love is precious, and love is real, and love is stronger than this filthy world. You knew me when you married me, and you didn't hesitate. You knew - I knew - that there would be pain, that laughter and tears alike are bound in the web of our hearts.
And I want the whole godsdamned world, with its filth and its pain and the shit of everyday existence - this world of confusion and misdirection and questions without answers - I want this world to know:
And I always will.