Something Beautiful [Diana He]

"Tell me something beautiful...

This is what she says to me.
I, the wordsmith. The man who weaves words once wayward into whimsical waves of witty and carefully whittled wonder.

'Tell me something beautiful.' I can picture her in my mind as she says it. I can feel the delicate curves of her waist as my arms encircle them and the clean scent of her astonishing my senses. My lips still warm with the taste of her as she looks into my eyes, glistening softly with that meaning in life which I had so naively shut out for so many years. Love.

My words are many, my wielding of them precise and masterful. My selection is only the finest, and yet there are no words to match her. I can listen to her voice and prepare to lavish upon her words of such verve and excellence, and find myself inconceivably and utterly bereft. What does one say?

I don't know the appropriate response, but I do know the one I will give you. You may think it heady, it may even disturb you, but I find it very beautiful.

I know what true love is.
It is not loving someone for who they were—that is a memory, easily erased. It is not loving someone for who they could be—that is a delusion, easily disappointed. It is loving someone for who they are. Now, tonight. With each beat of the heart, each whisper of a breath. Loving someone for all of their moments, both vaunted and vilified. For their brightest of actions and their darkest of desires. For the love and the passion, the anger, and the hate. A love that is true is not singular. It may not happen just once in a lifetime [or it may]. This I do not know.

I do know that I love you, truly I do, with a clean veil of veritas that none have worn before you. Your Light endears me, your Darkness arouses me. I want to wrap myself in the sheets of your silken laughter and surround myself in the soft down of your amorous caress.

I want you see me at my darkest, in the unyielding grip of my wrath and aggression, free of inhibition and all sense of propriety. I want to show you the dark side of passion. Of the maelstrom that exists when unstoppable force meets immovable object. A love not gentle and sweet, but hard and uncompromising. I want to pin you against a wall, twine my fingers in your hair, and look directly into your eyes. I want that rage and desperation for freedom and lack of consequence that I've caught glimpses of. That righteous indignation at society for being repressed. I want to see it fill your eyes and boil through your veins, and I want our shared gaze to see this bestial part of ourselves and accept it. Appreciate it. Yearn for it. And before we lose control and tear into one another with unrivaled throes of ravishment, I want to smile and be sure to tell you how beautiful you are, in this moment, and how much I love you.

I don't want to be an aspiring entrepreneur, or a novelist, or a prideful fool with aspirations of a life with absolute freedom of choice. What I want—more than anything—is to be a Man. The Man to your Woman, the Rock to your Jewel.

And most of all—my blindingly bright, unfathomably dark, and transcendentally imperfect perfection of a True Love—I want you to want me, in the way that I want you.

To me, that is something beautiful. Beyond uncertainty, or distance, or whatever comes in between. I want you. When these words delight you, sadden you, enthuse you, depress you, in all times before, during, and hereafter. I want you. Because you're beautiful. Because you think I'm beautiful. And because as long as you believe it, it can never be anything but true."

Sin Rostro! Open Mic Night
08/11

Beauty Bar
231 E 14th St., NYC

Category:

Entertainment

Tags:

• My
• First
• Project