Open Letter To Your Last Love

It is okay to be overwhelmed.

When love violently kicks in the door to
your chest and yells with a loaded
gun pointed in the direction of your
heart, it is okay to fall to the floor
and beg for mercy; to throw your pride
right out the window knowing fully well
that you will never see it again.

It is okay.

You won’t need it anymore.

When love intertwines its fingers with
yours, you will forget all you knew of
ego. You will embody humility. You will
forget all you knew of building walls
high enough to no longer see the stars
and take up gardening instead just to
grow beauty with your bare hands.

You will grow her fields of sunflowers
because she has taught you how to open up.

When love greets you for the first time,
you will know her. You will recognize
her smile. It is okay to be overwhelmed;
you are realizing you have found what you
have been searching for when you didn’t
even know you have spent twenty-one years
searching for it.

When love kicks in the door to your chest:
surrender.

Run to her.

Hold her close to you and promise
her you will never lock her out
again.

Things I can tell you now/I couldn’t tell you then.

One. You taught my lungs how to inhale
joy instead of cynicism twenty-four hours
into knowing me. You are a type of oxygen I
quickly learned to breathe.

Two. When I told you I no longer believed
heartache was the only fuel for art, the
point I was actually trying to make was
that you made me want to write happy
poems for the first time in my life.

Three. The very first time you called me love,
you thawed centuries-worth of icicles
barricading the way into my chest and I melted
into an ocean of forever needing you.

Four. The first time I told you I loved you,
I was so overwhelmed by that epiphany that
all I could do was curl into myself  and sob
acceptance into my open palms.

Five. The first time you bore your skin to me,
I crawled inside your pores and turned your body
into my permanent home.

Six. The first time I had to leave, I converted
my heartbeats into instruments of time measurement
and counted the lub-dubs until I could fold myself
into your arms again.

Seven. Love, you have redefined leaving for me
so that it is no longer the thing I keep doing
uncontrollably with my feet, but the very thing
I keep begging you not to do whenever I am half-
asleep. Love, you have redefined holy for me so
that every time you raise your head in search for
god, I am finding him in the details of your face.
Love, you have redefined love for me so that it
no longer rhymes with loss and ache.

Lover, the first time you said hello, you turned my
heart into a fist-sized Sunflower and I knew then
that the only light that would make infinite flower
fields out of my chest is the ethereal glow you radiate.