Before It Had to Be Named

I have never told a man
I loved him first.

Not because I didn’t.

Because I believed
love should recognize itself
before it had to be named.

I thought if it was true
it would arrive on your lips
before it ever reached mine.

Then you happened.

For the first time
I wanted to say it.

I carried those words
like water in my mouth
afraid that if I spoke
I would lose
both the water
and the thirst.

So I said nothing.

Instead, I loved you like the wind

the wind that finds your face
before you have opened your eyes

that moves through your hair
and catches in your breath

leaving you to wonder
what your heart remembered
that your mind could not name.

It hurts to love you
because the feeling is real
and has nowhere to go.

No place in your life
where it can remain.

So I carry it into mornings
into songs I cannot finish
into every quiet place
that still makes room for you.

I have questioned everything else

my judgment
my timing
the meaning of your silence.

But never this.

Never the love.

I only wanted one impossible thing:

for you to know
that somewhere in this world

you were loved
by a woman who had never told a man
she loved him first

and still could not bring herself
to tell you.

So if, on some ordinary morning
the wind finds your face

lingers for just a moment
and catches in your breath

let it be enough.

Let it carry the words
I could not.