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*I WHISPER BACK YOUR LOVE*

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“I love you, Brian.” How easy he says it. Like he’s full of this thing called Love, and he can’t hold it in any longer. “I love you, Brian.” He says it effortlessly, calmly. Like it’s the most natural thing on earth to say to someone. “I love you, Brian.” He says it softly, whispering it in my ear so I can hear each word. “I love you, Brian.” He says it playfully.  Like he’s filled with the joy of it. “I love you, Brian.” He says it forcefully. Like he’s unsure I really understand the meaning.

“I love you, Brian.” He says it at the door as I leave, so it will sustain me til I return. “I love you, Brian.” He says it when I return, so I know he’s glad to see me again. “I love you, Brian.” He says it in a note, placed secretly in my pocket, to be found when I need some reassurance the most. “I love you, Brian.” He says it in the morning when we awake, as if I had forgotten while we slept. “I love you, Brian.” He says it on the phone just before I hang up, and it brings a smile to my face, no matter where I am. “I love you, Brian.” He says it in the middle of the day for no other reason than to let me know he still loves me.

“I love you, Brian.” He says it with each sketch, each pencil stroke that becomes me. “I love you, Brian.” He says it with his eyes as he looks at me with complete trust. “I love you, Brian.” He says it with the tilt of his head as he watches me do any number of everyday things. “I love you, Brian.” He says it with his lips brushing against my neck. “I love you, Brian.” He says it with his fingers as he caresses my cheek or arm. “I love you, Brian.” He says as he takes my hand when we walk down the street.

“I love you, Brian.” He says it at night before we drift off to sleep, arms around each other, not wanting to let go, afraid to let go, refusing to let go. And I have him in my arms and in my life, and I never want to be without him. And I whisper back, “I love you, Justin.”

*from a poem by Leonard Nimoy, “Warmed by Love”, c1983, Blue Mountain Press

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