i. you have never been one for
loyalty or pure, unbridled faith but you see her one spring
day and something about the steely strength in her eyes her
gentle, commanding words opens a gaping fissure in your
chest, an arcane ache that only lessens in her presence.
she walks away from you that first time and a voiceless
chant begins to echo in your ears follow, follow,
follow.
ii. you follow. you find yourself, more and more, trying to
ease the weight of her burdens. she starts to expect your
presence, rely on your counsel– she commands, you
comply she questions, you reply. over time you learn to
breathe in time with her heartbeat, know her joys and
sorrows as deeply as your own. you let her reach for your
hand when the pain is too great and treasure every fleeting
smile she sends your way.
iii. she is a wonder to you whether she is faltering or
fearless, whether she is lost or lordly— oh, you love
her all the same. you do not ask for more than you deserve,
no, you dare not presume for she is a queen and you are no
consort but sometimes, when she thinks you cannot see her
gaze upon you is tender, so very sweet that you cannot help
your quiet hope.
iv. you stand by her in times of great beauty and times of
great grief, you are there for her triumphs and her
crushing defeats. you cannot tell if you love her more when
she is a sunlit blaze on the battlefield, exuding an
unattainable, otherworldly grace or when she heaves a sigh
after a long day, runs calloused fingers through her hair,
weariness lining her face (but then your love never truly
fluctuates.)
v. she holds your hand as the stars fall and again as the
world burns. you grasp her like a lifeline every time and
ignore your hungering heart. enough, you think, as you feel
her fingertips soft against your skin, this is more than
enough.
lionheart, amrita c.
