A man not afraid to get wet.
I remembered what it felt like not to be too much.
To be lightning and thunder for a man praying for rain.
A man who loves to dance in a storm.
A man not afraid to get wet.
I remembered what it felt like to be art.
To be Mona Lisa, holding her own amidst the city of lovers.
Holding her own in his single-pointed vision.
Holding her own, knowing she is held.
I remembered what it felt like to be a two-piece jigsaw.
To complete a picture just by being myself.
To snuggle in tight and fit just right.
To bring relief and give delight.
I remembered what it felt like to be chosen.
To be loved on second thought, not just first sight.
To be spun, and thread, and woven into existence,
To be handled with care, and worn with pride.
I remembered what it felt like to open wide.
To be seen by a man with nothing to hide.
A man who shows his courage with his tears.
A man who finds his love by facing his fears.
A man who looks into my eyes and whispers,
“I am here.”
