Or do I?

When I see the blue rivers stream down your face, I love you. I want to take you into my arms and to comfort you; I want to be your coffee cup, warming you up and talking you down.

But I can’t. I cannot find the words. How do I find the words? How do you tell somebody that means everything to you that they mean the most to you whenever and whereever they are?

I love it when you cry. I love that you have emotion, a passionate fire within you, encompassing so much that it brings you tears. But I do not love that you feel the fire lick your skin, that you feel it breed ashes on your arms, on your legs.  I do not love that you have to find water to extinguish it, to besiege your opposition.

And so you are the source. The source of your own pain, yes. But the source of my love, my amazement, my stars, my moon. You are my night and my morning.

You are the source of your own river, aching and trembling as you fight back the desperate destruction which hunts to kill, roams only to destroy.

When you cry, it is the most beautiful river, but the most destructive flood, and you are filled with the most red fire, which only you can fight, only you can combat.

I am the one watching on. Stargazing. I want so badly to take you into my mind, to help you to explore the ways in which I love you, I want to take you away into safety, refuge. I want to say a thousand words that will make you feel better.

But I can’t. I cannot find the words to fight your fire. I cannot find the water to extinguish your flames.

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