This greatest love

By Emmanuelle

You are my greatest love, the mightiest source of my strength; you are also my greatest fear and my Achilles’ heel.

My love for you knows no bounds. I will climb the steepest mountains, cross the wildest streams, find my way through Lost and Amazing Race. Just to see you, just to be with you at the end of the day. No mean feat to the hopelessly agoraphobic, hydrophobic, and arachnophobic. Polyphobic to the core.

Every waking hour, I sing out loud, that somewhere in my most wicked childhood, I must have done something good. For here you are standing there, loving me, whether or not you should.

And every sleeping moment, I dream I sing out loud, that somewhere in my most wicked childhood, I must have done something good. For here you are standing there, loving me, whether or not you should.

You are my greatest joy. You are my smile, my laughter, the twin to my deep dimple. A life without seeing you around and about me is the greatest sadness, emptiness to the max. For whom then are these smiles, this laughter, this lonely lopsided dimple?

No kisses no squeeze, no cuddle no hug is more potent than the look you always hold in reserve for me, only for me. When our eyes meet in close confines or across a crowded room, I light up inside. I laserbeam; I go glow ballistics.

And when in darkness you hide from me, there is no greater madness. I tremble, I fumble, I tumble, I fall over. I plummet to the ground. I split into wracked wretched pieces. There is no right to what is left of me.

The dark is no friend of mine. You are never there. You thrive in light. You are incandescence incarnate.

I cannot help myself; I am beyond help. Everytime, I find myself reaching out for you. I sigh in relief when, in one mind one heart, you reach out for me too. Our fingertips touch. Connect, align, unite.

“Narciso, paway ka lad tan. Mangan ka la. Duga la tay katutungtong mo ed salming. Naani, unebat la tan ed sika, gungunam!” (Narciso, come out and eat. Stop talking to the mirror. You would not know what to do with it if it talked back!)

I kiss you smack on the lips. You kiss me back. I taste the cold hard glass between us. I whisper to you “magangano ak labat, ompawil ak ya tampol.” (I will be quick; I will be back as soon.)

I wink. My love in the mirror winks back.

(Author’s Note: This was written in an abject tongue-in-cheek study of Narcissism. If you send me, care of Sunday Punch, the correct number of personal pronouns in the 1^st person that I have used in this article, I might send you Narciso for a guest, er, as a prize. Whatever.)

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