A man stands.
Sometimes he can do no more.
Every once in a long while something brings him back to life.
Someone moves his heart, and his being to stir. Someone makes him breathe deep and appreciate that breath.
Contrary to belief, love is not perfect- it is a study of imperfection and therein lies its deepest magic. And those chaotic moments where someone special goads you out of your self-imposed exile breathes life into you when you least expect it.
And they make you want to live. They give you your own life back, with their zest for you, and what you give them in return, sometimes even as you make them pull it grudgingly from you-
words do not do those perfectly imperfect moments justice
What we share is poetry. It is very much cherished, just as it is unique.
It is the best gift I ever got, and the best i'll ever give. In the only flawed way I can give it.
Merry Christmas Babochka. This is for you, and for all the people who breathe life into you, and all the ones who breathe life into me, despite myself, most times.
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