Look at that number
for that is how much I love you.
Yes, I know. There is no number
there on that desk, for there is no number
that could ever show the way
I love you.
But I’ll try to explain, as you turn your head
to the side to look at the number
that is not there.
The way the sunlight behind you
lights your hair, shadows the curve of your nose
against your eyes, a chocolate
a beautiful sight to behold.
And the way that you stand, your hand on your waistband
and the blazer pocket a little bulky with an outline of a pencil.
Did that answer your unwritten question?
I love to see without being seen.
And the way you lean back a little against the wall
of our shared classroom, your hand closed around
the back of a chair, and the way I wait for you outside class
is in the way that I love you.
And all the little things I do that come from you -
the tiny quirks I didn’t notice I was picking up and mirroring
and I seek you out when I walk into a room
even if you aren’t there to be seen.
And the way I wait, make a detour so I can meet you before or after school
and snatch precious moments before we leave one another
for another day, and I think about you when I walk home
and especially when I’m alone.
You can be the first thing I think of and the last thing at night,
and you are underpinned in every time I write
in the words I pencil on notes never sent
and words I use and never know what I meant.
It is a great thing to be loved.
It is, indeed. And when I have all the options
I chose you. I can love many, more than most
and yet, out of all of those,
my gender and yours and others and more,
I picked you, and with you I’ll stay.
Until there comes a day where you might say
otherwise.
Until then, I’ll love you, for you love and accept me
in ways that I’ll never truly see,
for who I am,
a rare thing to find
when all I am told is to make up my mind.
-Lilah Ainsworth