You have opened yourself up,
To me.
And you have opened me up,
To you.
And we have opened ourselves up,
To you,
To me,
And to somewhere that is neither of us.
Somewhere that is neither of us?
Yes, somewhere that is both of us.
How can that be?
But it can, it is somewhere that is both of us—-where both of us are.
So what is that?
How can both of us be?
Is it possible that being can be shared?
And both?
And yet one?
What is this?
I only know what it does.
It looks into the other.
It sees the other, and into the other.
It is beyond and within the other.
It loves the other.
It knows the other.
It is open to the other and for the other.
It gives as much as the other wants.
"Take anything you want of me."
"Riding on the wind."
Yes like that.
It breathes the other.
It inhales the peace of the other.
It hears the breathing of the other, and is concerned for its continuance.
It whispers close to the other about being close to the other, and is concerned for the closeness.
In low breaths it whispers.
And it transports and wants to be transported.
And so I am travelling along with you, holding you, holding your hand, being held by you, holding my hand.
You prance, and sleep, and look, and smile, and sleep, and wave goodbye, and I leave but I do not part from you.
How delightful it all is.
How you have changed me and so changed us, and so made me better, and so revealed the better of us.
In opening us up to each other.
Freshening it with the true novelty of it.
You have created the loving better of us.
And now we can submerge our-self in being it—and understand the beyond and within; being part of the one of it, being it of the parts of it.
