I love you

I love you. I love you. I love you. This is the intrusive [ha!] thought that's taken me, recently. I think it's not a new thing. I think these words have intruded in the past but because they seemed misplaced, they seemed false, they seemed directed to nobody or everybody in particular - because of that I batted them aside as the crazy spewings of a tired and confused brain.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I let them come now, let them arrive and think them and think them of everyone I haven't loved, everyone I have, everyone I wanted to love, everyone who loved me, everyone. Plants and animals and friends and parents and family and lovers - lovers I didn't love, would-be lovers I did - I love you. I love you. Love for the world and the universe and myself. And myself. The words that I haven't said, no, never, in three decades of life.

But no more. I think them, I whisper them, and when the time is right, I shall say them with blessed abandon.