I wish that a blind man could see how much I love you. But the truth is, my love so often stays hidden away inside me. It’s obscured by my anxiety, by my insignificant, neurotic worries, and by my irrational avoidance of love itself. Somedays I feel like my love is frozen in place, the chill of guilt and shame on my neck, icicles dripping from my heart. Other days I just feel blocked, as though a concrete boulder has rendered my love totally immobile. And in the meantime, I dream about the possibility for love itself to set my heart free — so free, it would feel like dancing through a sunlit field, my arms outstretched, the wind carrying me from behind. I dream about dancing, free and joyful, through this field with you, my love, our hands laced together as we laugh uncontrollably, buoyed by the blissful freedom of finally feeling our love. Oh, I know we’ve said it a thousand and one times before, like a television jingle that’s lost its meaning and its novelty: I love you before bed; I love you saying goodbye in the morning; I love you as a matter of course. Of course I love you, yes, but what I want most is for my love to find you like a gentle, warm summer breeze, unmistakable in the comfort and pleasure it brings you. Maybe a blind man really could see how much I love you, but that wouldn’t matter a whit to me. The only thing that matters, my love, is that you feel it, for yourself. ❤️‍🔥—Y.B.D.