i did the dishes because i didn’t know what to say.

february 11, 2019 — 2:44 am.

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i’ve never witnessed a blue heron in the city —

i’ve never drank a triple ipa that i enjoyed —

i’ve never watched a squirrel push a turtle off a log —

i’ve never gone to a hardcore metal show and flailed my arms inhumanly —

i’ve never been asked by a complete stranger to join them as they drive their RC Trucks off some sweet jumps in the park —

— until today.

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i’ve never seen my grandma cry,

until today.

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she made us tea and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek,

i made sure to kiss her back.

she’s not old — she’s antique,

and she’s defeated aging by simply believing that everyone deserves love all of the time.

she never stops spreading it,

and neither did my grandpa.

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she was the sea to a sailor who was fervent about voyaging.

he sought to explore every ripple from the rain to roars from the night storms.

he was adventurous, patient, and romantic.

he enjoyed the peaceful waters along with the painful ones.

he woke up every morning genuinely in love with his life,

because pursuing her depths was always a priority in his mind.

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and to her,

he was vacation.

he was safe.

he was holding hands at disneyland.

he was traveling the US in a motor home, stopping at every lighthouse along the way,

because he knew she loved them.

he was there — every day — to tell her that she is beautiful, and that life is good.

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their love was my first encounter with poetry.

the freedom of expression artistically displayed through sharing affection.

communicating every hurting section of their individualism.

conveying cadences that castrates self-indulgences and creates a pair of caring characters.

coming together; they reveal their adoration.

she wanted to exist next to him,

it was her desire.

he wanted to exist next to her.

it was his choice.

they loved themselves, while loving one another,

and they never stopped spreading this love to others.

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i’ve never witnessed myself doing yoga shirtless —

i’ve never drank an old fashioned with olives —

i’ve never watched a group of sea lions bark rather annoyingly in unison —

i’ve never gone to a marina and seen a clean shaven ass crack from a hairy man who looked kinda like chris farley mixed with jack black —

i’ve never been told by a complete stranger that their sorry for my hairline —

— until today.

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i’ve never read my poetry in front of my grandma,

i’ve never seen my grandma cry,

i’ve never cried in front of my grandma,

until today.

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she said she sees him in my writing,

so i washed the dishes for her.