I knew she was alive and breathing all along. Theres been so many nights when the city dove into complete silence, and I could remember hearing the sound of her chest heaving. So charmingly distinguished from the terrible moan of a million other things that were lost to this sluggish, repetitive town. A place that’s certainly inept towards any type of sensitivity of the human spirit. Most of the year I’m susceptible to a certain diminishment of my vitality. But I knew she was there…  

She is Serendipity and I’ve leared to tell her apart from all other enertias – gravity pales in her comparison to her draw. Even her very likliness can lift the skies and force an entire ocean through the keyhole of my bedroom door.

I awake to pleasant shivers as she traces my cheekbone with the tip of her finger each morning. The way the sun from the window across the room silhouettes her body is more irresistible than any piece of lace she could possibly be draped in.

If only I could translate in succinct verse all of the things she’s showed me. The sophistication of a quiet winter evening sitting alone under the quivering leaves of an old oak. I collected a million different shades of blue and green from her eyes and I would use these fascinating hues to paint my own grayed world for weeks at a time.   I feel the air pass through our twisted limbs with complex softness. Like a crazed feline – too curious to just let each us be and yet much too empathetic to destroy us.  Slowly, her gentle breath on my shoulder begins to distinguish me apart from all the pitiful bodies lining trite American homes and interstates.

When we walk down rainy avenues, I hold her hand like a child holds onto a small balloon. My reaction to feeling that she was much lighter than air and if I should ever loosen my grip, she might drift away into the clouds above and her eyes would color the darkened atmosphere with those intricate blues and greens. So I took small pieces of string and began to sew small pieces of my own life to her, to keep from dancing away into the air – So that my world could retain these wonderful new tones. Past memories and dusty old literature from my bookshelf were sewn to her along with a few love letters written from foxhole of a uselessly romantic young man. Pieces of me strung to her soft skin, to keep her from dismantling in the wind like a dandelion. So that, should she ever get carried away, she would take me along for the ride.