Man, I am Handsome

Men are not taught to see themselves as wonders.
We are raised to be stoic pillars, to bear weight in silence, to give and rarely pause to admire the giver. Yet here I stand, seeing myself with unashamed eyes, and for once, I speak it.

I am the most handsome man.
Mirrors tell me so,
Life itself sculpted me into this. I walk into a room and the air hesitates; I am presence. Followed by the rest—ah, perhaps one or two who might come close, but even then, I remain singular.

O God, you must have stayed on me.
When you carved the curve of this jaw, the arch of these shoulders, the stretch of these long bones reaching six feet tall. You painted my skin the deep color of rich earth after rain, dark, fertile, alive, and filled it with juice sweeter than the tongues of poets could ever capture.

Look at this frame: built with labor, yet graceful; strength that does not shout but simply exists, unyielding.
And within, a mind—ah, this mind!sharp enough to draw envy, steady enough to draw trust, restless enough to seek and never settle.

What else, man? What else could I ask for?
Potential thrumming in my veins, character like bedrock under my feet.
I am art. Not perfect, no, but what masterpiece ever was?

So here I am.
Appreciating me.
Because if I cannot honor the marvel of my own making, who will?

@okelododdychitchats

New, and New Again

There is a lantern burning in the darkened orchard, its flame steady though the winds conspire against it. So is my heart, unshaken by storm, for it has taken your name as its eternal wick. No night has been so deep that your light did not find me there.

There is a river that bends and bends again, yet never loses its way to the sea. My devotion follows. Each thought of you is a current, each dream of you is a tide, until all of me is poured into the great ocean of your being.

There is a star that stays when the dawn has claimed the sky, a lone sentinel of night’s mystery. That star is the memory of your eyes, refusing to fade though the day demands dominion. Even in the crowded brilliance of life, it is you I see, burning beyond the reach of time.

There is a music that no instrument can summon, yet I hear it whenever your spirit brushes mine. It is the song of beginnings, the hymn that shepherded the first lovers through gardens of wonder. It comes to me as though the world were created anew each moment I think of you.

There is a door that opens in silence, where absence becomes presence, and distance is folded into breath. Each time you cross my mind, you do not return as you were, but as something more, a revelation sharpened by longing, softened by tenderness.

There is a secret, older than scripture yet younger than every heartbeat: that to love is to discover eternity within the hour. I touch your soul not as one who has known, but as one astonished still, as though my lips had just now learned the miracle of your name.

There is, at last, this vow, not sculpted in stone, but written in the quickening blood of a heart undone. I will meet you again and again as though for the first time, a pilgrim at the gates of wonder. And when the world is ash and the sky a forgotten scroll, my love shall still be there, new, and new again.

@okelododdychitchats

Her Candle

The gift of strawberry and vanilla
is sweet, light as breath upon glass,
a fragrance that stays softly
but drifts like memory in the air.

The gift of peach with apricot
is warm, full, and ripened by desire,
a deeper note that stirs the senses,
yet it fades as twilight fades from day.

But her skin holds a scent beyond the jar,
a living perfume no hand can craft.
Her face is the light the flame seeks to imitate,
her spark the fire no wax can contain.

So I do not long for the candle she makes,
nor the perfumes she blends with care,
but for the burn that lives in her presence,
a flame that is wholly hers.

@okelododdychitchats

In the Dust, A Pulse

I like to seek the treasure hidden in the dust.
To lift what is broken, what others have thrown aside,
and hold it until it speaks.

There is a life in things the eye does not see,
a cup that has forgotten the lips it once touched,
a blade that once sang in the air,
a flower that still dreams of sun though it is ash.

I do not take them as they are.
I search for what they wanted to be.
I listen for the pulse beneath their silence,
for the promise that time could not keep.

And in that quiet,
I find something greater than beauty,
the truth that nothing is ever truly lost,
only waiting to be seen again.

@okelododdychitchats

When I Fall in Love

When I fall in love,
it will be as though the earth itself
has drawn breath beneath my feet,
and I will know,
for the first time,
that I am alive.

I will want her always,
not as the moon wants the tide,
but as roots want the rain,
as a flame longs for the wick
that lets it burn.

In joy,
I will laugh beside her
until our voices rise like larks
and scatter in the morning sun.
I will hold her close,
so close that my heartbeat
resonates with hers.

In sorrow,
I will be her shelter,
a quiet roof beneath the storm,
my hands the cloth
that wipes away each falling tear,
my chest the place
where grief can come to rest.

When I fall in love,
every waking moment
will be a prayer of gratitude,
every sleeping hour
a dream where her name
blooms like jasmine
on my tongue.
I will gather each instant,
not to keep it,
but to cherish it,
like pearls
slipped gently through my fingers.

And when I must leave,
when parting presses its bitter kiss
upon our lips,
I will miss her
before I have even gone,
and yearn for the soft resurrection
of our next “hello.”

When I fall in love,
the shadows of old wounds
will wither,
their traces silenced
by the music of her being.
I will find courage
where once there was none,
and I will walk through fire
with bare feet
and an unshaken heart.

When I fall in love,
I will want only this:
for her joy to rise like dawn,
for her soul to sing
as though the heavens themselves
were listening,
for her to feel,
deep in her marrow,
that she is the most cherished
among all living things.

For that is what I will feel
when I fall in love,
with her.

@okelododdychitchats

I HAVE SEEN BEAUTY BEFORE, BUT NOT YOURS

Not for the dress alone, though it was red,
and carried the room like fire carries light.
Not for the beauty of the face alone,
though it was gentle, and proud, and true.

But for the smile,
the first I saw,
that held no vanity,
no asking,
no disguise.
It came like rain to thirsty ground,
quiet, unbidden, and remembered.

Since then I have wished one thing:
not to stand afar as a passerby,
not to be lost in the drift of strangers,
but to be near,
to be counted on,
to be the voice that answers
when your night turns heavy.

Take this as my beginning,
a word instead of a rose.
If you will have it,
let it open slowly,
like trust,
like morning.

@okelododdychitchats