Loving the Little Things

I lay down next to you, my head on your chest, your breathing slow and even, and I listen to your heart beating. It’s slow at first, steady, secure, and it reminds me of home. I think that maybe this is what love feels like, this desperate desire to be with someone always, to hold their hand and hear their heart and know that I am never alone. I sigh then. Deeply, contentedly, and your heartbeat picks up, until all I can hear is this frantic sound, your heart banging against your ribcage, so similar to waves crashing themselves against an unconquerable shore. You barely move however, only leaning down to press your lips against my forehead, and when I ask about your racing heart, you tell me: “my heart beats slowly when I look most places, but it picks up when I focus on you.” And that’s when my heart starts to beat a bit faster too.

Sing me The Song of Songs.
Don’t know the words.
Then sing the notes.
Don’t know the notes.
Then simply hum.
Forgot the tune.
Then press my ear
to your ear
and sing what you hear.

—Vera Pavlova, If There is Something to Desire

Why is the word yes so brief?
It should be
the longest,
the hardest,
so that you could not decide in an instant to say it,
so that upon reflection you could stop
in the middle of saying it.

—Vera Pavlova, If There is Something to Desire

Sometimes the world gets lonely.

Then the wind blows,

or I turn my head too fast,

and I get the tiniest whiff of you.

Leftover from a kiss,

or a hug,

or just having you close.

And suddenly,

I feel infinitely less alone.