You stand in my kitchen, making lemonade –
such an ordinary thing.
But even in the ordinary, your energy infuses
the room, the air, and my soul.
Its familiar, comforting,
powerful, magnificent presence overwhelms me,
just as it did the first time we spent a night together.
Yet, there you stand: unassuming, sincere, humble,
and I wonder if you fully know who you are, what you are.

I know.
For centuries, I have wept helplessly as you faced
unbearable ordeals with strength, grace, and courage.
My pride in you has overflowed as the honor and kindness
in your heart grew with each dawn of a cosmic day.
I have been awed as the creativity, power, and understanding
of your mind intensified through the ages.
I have been inspired anew each time you stood strong
against injustice, and bravely defended those you love
and what you believe to be right.
I have watched with love as your spirit expanded in
enlightenment and beauty with each incarnation.

Yes, I know who you are.
I know you are more than worthy
to soar in the company of the most luminous and wondrous of souls.

“I would die for you,” lovers proclaim
to demonstrate the depth and strength of their devotion.
But death is but a moment of courage and noble sacrifice,
and then it’s done,
leaving the beloved with only pain.

For half a lifetime,
I looked for you in the face of every dark-eyed stranger I passed.
I ached for you in the deepest recesses of my soul.
I dreamed of you night after night
and woke up trembling with longing.
I felt the sacred mystery of your presence
without having met you.
My solitary heart cried out for you each day,
and I believed I would find you, no matter how long the journey.
And on those few days when my faith began to waver,
and the search seemed futile,
something ineffable always drew me back to the truth of you.

And so, the measure of my love is this:
I would live for you.