'Magic' is one of the heaviest words in the English language.
Yet, used so effortlessly
Tossed around, discredited
Think about anytime you’ve seriously described someone as magical.
To be full of wonder, full of this substance capable of anything and everything.
To be compared to magic,
It is to almost say,
“You are as beautiful as the sun and ocean meeting every night and every morning,
You are as wondrous as the wind blowing over trees and the ground creating them all over again,
You are as mysterious as snowflakes falling graciously down from the skies and disappearing into the fabric of my sweater,
You….you are magic.
The magic that gives me these tiny little bumps all over my skin when you look up at me,
finally meeting the eyes who have tried timing yours in order to look away in time
You are the magic that makes my head spin at 3am,
When I think about your lips and the softness of their corners,
The magic that makes my heart beat really fast,
As I sit there, inches away
Seconds away from kissing them.
You are magic,
You are my love and hate combined,
My anger and happiness,
Everything building its fortress in one being
You are my hopes and my setbacks
And it’s magic,
That you can be all those things for me,
So is it magic?
What you give to me,
What I feel on my fingertips and
In between my rib cages, is that what it’s called?
To want to call you half asleep just to hear you,
To want to leave you notes just to let you know
To need your eyes…
It must be magic, then.
Because I no longer think of just me,
I speak pluralities.
And I no longer pray for just me,
I cast wishes and hopes in the air for you.
Sigh, I guess if you were to ask me, if I believe in “magic”, I mean really believe in it,
I would smile and look down,
I’d whisper a soft, “Yes.”
Because you are just that and I believe in you deeply.