last night in the car

the realization dawned on me as you ran your fingers, rather awkwardly, through my hair. i have to admit, i initially found it rather strange since it felt like you were petting an animal more than stroking the head of your lover. you continued, unmindful of my growing reaction. it was a discomforting feeling, how your fingers seemingly struggled through my strands, managing their way with some friction through my waxed hair. you combed them with your fingers, pulling them down, flattening them towards you, towards where you sat, as if raking my mind. i eventually blurted out, "thank goodness you're not my stylist!", words of which halted your stroking as now, you pondered on what it was that i meant. it was a joke that fell flat on its own. it feel flat the moment i said it, as, now that i think of it, all jokes that don't begin as jokes always do. my feelings of discomfort, my ideas of perfection, this picture in my head and how the moment that we were having did not fit in it was the cause... because, it was a picture only i alone drew. a picture i drew for myself, without you. a picture only i saw from mine eyes, from my vantage point and mine alone. a picture whose sole focus was how perfect the world was if i had things done... my way.

a world, i realized, you had no part in.

hence, your fingers felt awkward as you ran them through my hair. your petting felt like you were stroking an animal, more than your lover. you struggled. you were not gentle. you felt unrefined, and thus, did not conform to perfection.

but there lies the great error, and here also began the wondrous mercy.

i saw you again. i saw you again in your purity of intention. how your every action stems from love and love alone. how you step out and go out of your way to express your love, and how i have forgotten that this was one of the reasons why i fell in love with you. your beauty, your uniqueness does not stem out of outward polish, nor of great poise, nor of impeccable demeanor. your beauty comes out of your fragility, your innocence, your simplicity. you are like fresh dew after a harrowing night, like a cool breeze to break the heat.

we speak a different language, you and i. while i grew, accustomed to a world obsessed with outward appearances and control, you however speak a language far more relaxed and sincere, and how i now look forward to hearing you, and if you would be patient enough, learn how to speak your language as well.

all of this, i realized, just because you messed up my hair.

i love you.