“I will bring our book and read it to you. It will not all be romance, it will be better: it will be ours.”
Things I would like to do with You, Waylon Lewis’ long-awaited first book, is romantic—and then some.
But it details a different kind of romance: instead of chick flick, “you complete me,” happily-ever-after fantasy, Things marks an exploration of the kind of love that lasts. A kind of love that includes independence, humor, room for growth…even loneliness.
Here’s a little taste of what lies between the (FSC certified) pages of this book—grab a warm cup of tea, a cozy blanket, and prepare to swoon:
“I am a lover of love and I am a lover of words, and the two together spin visions of airy castles, but also may pierce the heart of hope. And so I remind you that I am a fool, a poet, and what matters is reality, not lovely words. Words are full of promise, yet empty of matter.”
“I am surprised by your reality, and relieved: you are beautiful. Beautiful is more than attractive—it means inside is as outside.”
“I would like to go to sleep each night by thanking you for being with me,
And wake each morning pleasantly surprised to find you are in my life,
I would like to feel admiration for the littlest things you do, and how,
and how you look others in the eyes, openly, with affection, sparkling but strong.
Forever is not important to me, but this is.”
“It is rare, this not being in a rush: for we are both already where we want to be.”
“I would like to stop wordplaying, and see you.”
“I would like to read your handwriting and I would like to notice the way your eyes curve, and your wide white smile, and your simple yet personal style, and I would like to ask you the same damn questions again and again so that you wonder aloud if I do not listen but, no, I assure you without reassuring you: I have always been forgetful and it does not mean that I do not care.”
“I would like to care more about you than about my feelings for you.”
“Love is only available to those willing to be continually brave in weakness.”
“I would like to see you. But: I would only like to see you with your feeling space, and desire, the parents of bravery, and curiosity. I would like you to want to see me without you feeling seduced or pressured. I would like to see you without our playing games: for games are for winners and losers and I do not ever want to win against you, or for you to lose against me, and I do not want to lose against you or for you to win against me. For we are part of the whole, the main, as Donne said—and your gain is mine and my loss is yours. Love is about finding one’s match, which means we shall touch our minds and hearts together at once, and never condescend or aim for any goal between us but the truth.”
“We cannot play games well when it comes to this love: and this is how we shall win.”
“I would like to do many things before we should ever call this anything. For when we touch the earth, we touch a foundation of interdependence and impermanence: for we build this castle in the sky, in space. We are what stars or trees or streams are, and stars or trees or streams are what we are. And if things come together if only for a moment or an eon it is the same: it is a warrior’s love song you and I can sing in the shower.
I would like to remember that you and I, we…began things properly. Slowly, deliberately, in the old way: as if we meant it.”
“I would like to make fun plans with you, but then just do ordinary things; or plan ordinary things but find we have stepped through a wardrobe into a world of ordinary magic.”
“I like the feeling of hunger for it reminds me of all those hundreds of months without you.
Missing you, thinking of you, like a friendly lonely thin tiger smelling the slip of a season into a new season.”
“If you and I spend our seasons together we would find that our dreams and fantasies of happily-ever-after-love have holes in them through which the wind of karma blows: our yellow flag shakes. And I would like you to look ahead and see what I know: the wind will replace our pretty ideas with something brighter: life.”
“I would like to hold your hand as it holds this green leaf, yellowed, that fell early from its tree, this Autumn. And I would like to imagine that it feels your careful care, for your eyes are warmed by your heart, and I would let you sadly nestle into me as a bird folds into its nest, resigning itself to a storm. For my heart is as large as a city, and it glows with the fire that, with the right mischievous love, shall serve to inspire thousands upon thousands to inspire thousands upon thousands.”
“I would like to say that your beauty made it difficult to breathe.”
“And so I would like to thank you. You taught me, again and again again and again and again, not to dream of you. And I listened. I am silent. These words are not words of love, but of the silence that will remain when I walk away when this letter is done. I have listened and I do not continue to imagine our love, for it was not love. You were too busy walking a flowered path, and it was my misstep that I thought we had something more than an hour’s fun for you.
Thank you, for clarifying for me what love is not.
Love is no thing, and nothing is a gift, space is a playground, and time and distance are merely peaks and valleys in the topography of real love.
And I would remind you: I am not one of your fans. For I know what I deserve, and it is one who is not afraid of fear. Love does not require this map: it makes its way across the miles. Love does not heed the time; it is not rooted in the months of one or two moons. Love is not bothered by obstacles—they form the high sides to the left and right of this rocky path. This path does not depend upon external signs: love will find its own way.”
“The alchemy that is friendship mixed with attraction is important. The alchemy that is two hearts, two minds, two lives, two particular laughs in silly melody is important.
And, it is yet unknown, as you are, to me.”
“I know what love is and it is friendship, set afire.
Love is easy. Love is chemistry—a science lab. Love is as simple as connecting this together with that. Her brilliant eyes and my heated heart.
But this is not love.
Genuine love is friendship. Genuine love resides only in the present moment. Genuine love is everyday. Genuine love feels no need to entertain the space away. Genuine love is up, genuine love is down and yet genuine love never wavers.
Love is something else entire: it is caring. It is arguing, but with curiosity—it is giving an inch when the other is certainly wrong—it is teasing, it is empathy, it is respect, it is admiration each morning.”
“You are not my dream girl.
You are this earth. You are not a fantasy: you are my love. And love is friendship lit by a wooden match with a white tip on its red tip. I am your match, and you are mine.”
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