When someone’s presence hugs you, what do you call this? When his presence melts you, makes you forget your resolve, forget what is around you. What exactly is this? When his presence feels like a first sip of wine. Feels like a direct beam of sun on bare skin, feels like a gentle sink into warm sand. Feels like the opportunity to make a wish on a star, right when you need one the most, with a thousand more stars simultaneously appearing so you can’t quite tell which one you spotted first. When his presence feels like the last step required to reach the most beautiful vantage point, makes you forget you’re sad.  When his presence feels like a smile, like an unbelievable view. Like a clean slate.  Feels like cold water slipping over your skin as you dive over a wave, taking your breath but making it stronger. When his presence causes you to shed a layer of uncomfortable skin, each time, bringing you closer to the best you, the you that feels least censored, most like You. When his presence feels like dejá vu to something that hasn’t happened in this lifetime.  When his absence viscerally Hurts, what do you call that?

What do you call this, when you think of someone until you cannot think of him anymore? When you have to build two projectors in your mind, one dedicated to him, just to open up space for other thoughts. When you need to visualize not thinking of him to make that a possibility. What is this? When your mind says his name, because there are words wrapped up and tangled in his name that you can’t seem to say separately, can’t even identify, but need to announce. When your mind hears him saying your name, just to ensure you remember what it should sound like. What is the name for this? When your mind sees his smile when you think of happiness, sees his tears when you think of broken hearts, sees his eyes when you think of connection, what exactly do you call this?

What do you call this, when you intimately know anger, and hurt, and confusion, and regret, but it is something else that makes you cry. You can acknowledge those feelings and swallow the lump rising in your throat at the same time, no problem. But you choke when you try to state how much concern you have for him. You feel the lump before it breaks your voice, you feel it from the hairline where you begin to push your hair behind your ear to the toe peeping out of your shoes, fidgeting as you try to stay composed and fail. You fail, tears falling from your eyes, when you try to connect this concern to just one word, to capture and vocalize it. It’s too big to capture; it’s not just concern. Realizing the amount of energy taken by your worry for him. Realizing how you have denied this to yourself. Realizing that the other emotions, bigger in reputation, are mere shadows to the Concern for him. Feeling every moment of worry and all their accumulated weight as you try and try to articulate just four words – “I was so worried” – and cannot. What do you call this?

What do you call it when your want is for his content, when your need is for his peace, even if you are part of neither. When you see him pushing a heavy stone up a hill, and are willing to offer your strongest muscle — stronger than your shoulders, stronger than your legs. The muscle that feeds blood to all other muscles, that beats beautifully and strongly and selflessly. When your desire to make the offer is outweighed only by the painful knowledge that he has to navigate certain inclines alone. That your familiarity with the hill and the destination doesn’t matter. What do you call this when you (almost) contain this beating muscle that normally can’t be contained, that you usually can’t help but wear on your sleeve, that isn’t currently beating just for your benefit? This feat feels nearly impossible (impossible). I need to know what you call this.

When you keep turning the pages in your story, and you are certain those pages will contain him even if his name isn’t written. In flashbacks, in wisdom. In your choices, your dreams. In your self-reflection. In your touch, in what you look for. Somehow, in what you find.

What do you call this?