This is How I Will Love You

[C.P. Harrington]

This is How I Will Love You
By C. Paolo Harrington

I will hold the door open for you and I will walk on the street side of the sidewalk.

Five years after our first kiss I will still get butterflies when I see you across a crowded room, and my breath will still catch in my throat when I see you naked.

I will make you laugh, even when you don’t want to. I will take care of you when you are sick. I will hold your hair back as you throw up.

I will give you morning kisses and good night kisses every single day. If we’re apart, I will text them to you. I will never fail to do this. Not even once. You will love this.

I will fight for you. I will do things for you that you will never know about, and never will.

I will teach you everything I know. I will believe in you. I will push you.

A hurricane will knock out our power. I will find you coffee. Milk. One Splenda.

I will wake up early one morning. I will slide close to you as you stir, your back toward me. I will tell you not to move as I slowly undress you. I will take you from behind, my hand playing with your nipple as I kiss your neck and thrust deep inside you. You will be unable to decide whether to giggle or moan, so you will do both.

I will fall in love with your perfectly imperfect smile.

No one will mess with you when you’re with me. I will always have your back.

I will put you to bed when you’ve had too much to drink.

I will believe you when you say you hate surprises, but I will surprise you anyway.

I will get us bubble bath, and we will soak together for hours, watching old movies. We will discover our mutual love for Palchelbel. And for Johnny Cash.

You will fall asleep during a long car ride. You will look at me when you wake up and say: “God, I love you so much”. Then you will reach over and play with my hair as I drive. I will be unable to comprehend how lucky I am.

I will tease you when you close your eyes during the scary parts of The Walking Dead.

I will recommend Don Winslow; you will recommend George R.R. Martin.

I will listen.

I will walk your dog.

I will drink too much. I will let you down because of it.

I will edit your writing. You will edit mine.

I will find a bracelet for you to wear that’s inscribed with the Song of Solomon, because you told me you loved it. For I am my beloved and my beloved is mine.

On a cold, blustery, winter afternoon we will lounge on the couch before a fireplace in matching white robes, your head resting on my lap, drinking wine and talking lazily as people do when they stare into a fire. You will undo my robe and tease me as you get me hard. I won’t know whether to laugh or moan as you take me into your mouth, so I will do both.

I will love your parents. But I really won’t care if they like me. You’re whom I want. Just you.

I will love your sisters. I will care very much if they like me or not.

I will tell you that you look best in jeans and a shirt with no make-up. I’ll say it enough that you’ll finally believe me.

Our first dance will be under a warm Hawaiian night. Lightning will flash all around us. We are perfect together, you will whisper in my ear. You’re my angel, I will whisper back.

You will ask to borrow something to wear to bed. I will give you my old, tattered shirt from my days as a fireman. It will come down past your knees.
It will become your favorite.

You will ask me about my life. I will tell you of the lives I tried to save and did; and the lives I tried to save and didn’t. I will tell you of the places I have been and the people I got to meet. I will tell you that Barrack is really cool. That Bono is really short and that Bruce is really shy.

I will tell you of my failures, my frustrations and my dreams. You will know that I am not nearly as confident as I sometimes appear.

I will never cheat on you, but I will lie to you.

I will cry when the dog dies in movies. You will call me a dork. I will plead guilty and smile.

I will find peace in your arms.

I will trust you.

I will worship your body and giving you pleasure will become my greatest joy, but I will be utterly captivated by your mind and your sheer curiosity.

We will become best friends.

I will do planks with you at midnight, learn Pai Gow with you, and play along to Jeopardy with you while we eat dinner. You will be way better at it than me.

We will sit for hours, just talking about anything and everything. We will sit for hours drinking and solving the world’s problems and laughing how easy that was.

I will tell you that when I love, I love forever, and then I will tell you that I love you.

And that I always keep my promises. Always.

One day, you will write me a note on a yellow post-it. You will always have my heart and I will love you always, it will say.

I will keep that note forever.





Copyright 2016 by C. Paolo Harrington

[YesNo]

Nice love story.

[C.P. Harrington]

Thanks!

[seerseenbyseein]

the trouble with human beings is: They just don't learn from the experience of others. That is why, even though weaponry has grown more and more capable of wrecking the entire planet, we still live right next to the outbreak of another world war. That is why we in the US have elected for ourselves a president who is obviously a Trojan Horse full of alt right kamikazis who want nothing so much as to get and hold power, no matter what laws, institutions, traditions and constitutions they have to destroy to do it.
And that is why, dear poster, young people write poems like the one above. Just a tiny bit of looking around would convince them that no one has ever kept or been able to keep the kind of promises this poem is advertising. Oh well. You will find out the hard way, like all the rest of us..

It is not a bad poem, however. Utterly fanciful, but not bad.

[Steven Hunley]

I like this too.

[C.P. Harrington]

My dear friend - thank you for reading, and for writing. I will can assure you of two things: I am not as young as you may think...and it is entirely true.

[C.P. Harrington]

Very much appreciated.

[Calidore]

The writing itself is fine. My problem with the piece is that it has no personality; it's simply turning the Gush dial to 11. Reading it was like trying to eat a bowl of honey. If you could find a way to give some sense of the people involved, their characters and history, it would give the piece some depth and make it less cloying.

[C.P. Harrington]

This is really good feedback. I think you're right. Thanks.

[Calidore]

Glad you found my comment useful. Hope this next one is as well.

I've finally been able to define my big problem with this: It's no more an expression of love than the Police song "Every Breath You Take". The entire thing is I, I, I; rather than telling the woman how he loves her and counting the ways, it's all about how awesome he is and why she should love him. Even more unsettling, he talks about his intent to ignore her stated discomfort (paragraph 12), among other red flags.

[C.P. Harrington]

Very useful.

Here's the thing, though. If it was just a how much I love you, let me count the ways piece, would it be any less like a bowl of honey? In graf 12, I think the character is trying to convey that he his how own man. By using "I" he's stating pretty clearly that this is what you get, this is who he is and he's not afraid of that...both good and bad.