How is this possible? I have been writing to you for years, for an eternity, and now that I have found you I have no words to capture your true meaning? Have you so stolen my breath that I cannot fill my chest enough to speak? Does my heart pound so loudly I cannot hear my own thoughts, let alone assemble them into something sensible and worthy? You are the goddess in my arms; the guardian at my side; the supplicant at my feet; the wolf at my door whom I have welcomed in to eat at my table and rest at my hearth. I could weep for the beautiful fluidity of identity when everything we were and are and could be come crashing together like waves against the shore. And in a universe where essence can neither be created nor destroyed, every form we assume is a true rendering of you, me, us.


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