Matthew Lyle Landsman

There are no eggshells on my floor, so you needn’t tiptoe once you pass through my door.
You don’t owe me an apology for what someone else did. Nor for what I think you might do, or didn’t do. You don’t owe me. Period. You only owe you, just what that may be isn’t up to me. Only you know what’s best for you.
For all I do know, and everything I am to learn, I am aware there are so many other things I have no clue even exist…So my plate, though full, is likely far too small for what I will eventually come upon. What light will shine, what light will fade. What will be reflected, deflected, and forgotten.
And my glass, whether half empty or half full is not the matter. What matters again is the size of my glass. Not your glass or their glass. Mine. And if it is always half anything, perhaps it is simply too big.
I have many closets in my home. In none of them are shoes I pack with me for you to wear. None that fit her that I want to squeeze you into. Or expect you to grow into. There are no shoes, but I will tie yours if you cannot reach. If you need to learn, I could teach. With patience, and with kindness. Or not. Learning on one’s own is good too. That my friend is up to you.
Though you be mine, and I be yours, we shan’t own one another. I know that I might own some of your happiness, but at the same time, I might also own your sorrow. But I will not own your thoughts, nor your opinions. I won’t fence you in with distrust and suspicion that stems from the same I harbor from my own misgivings. The security I offer you is freedom. The bindings I offer you are trust, the world, and a choice to do and be where you wish. And I hope you choose to be near to me. There is no greater love than one without chains. The chains that bind you and me exist within their absence.

Love isn’t a trial, or a series of pointed fingers and ultimatums. It isn’t a pillow to cry into, or a dread in the night. Love isn’t a state where one is put into their place…Love is choice, and not a need. It’s a safe place, a shelter and refuge when the world becomes the opposite. Love isn’t someone to retreat from. It is someone to seek. It isn’t a word. It is an essence and best part of life itself. If it doesn’t feel safe, and fair, and nurturing, and trustful…then it isn’t truly love. Then it is just the word, without the substance…

In this house, we will raise our voices. Often. In song, and cheering, celebrations and sheer joy. Not in overpowering criticism, or argument, or an angry, spiteful tone. The will be no one lording over another, no superior air that serves to demean and wound. I may be tempted to declare love at the top of my voice, but I’d rather your smile and confidence will be our song for all others to hear with their eyes…
And I hope we do find “our song”.  That it is untouched as a field of fresh snow, yet as sure as the path of a country road…with a view from here to wherever we’re bound, with just enough hills, and turns, and bumps that we grow assured of the presence of one another…even in the dark of night or fury of storm. In fact; I hope we have many such songs. I want you to know you can lean on me when you’re weak, and I the same. That come the dawn, I’ll still be there, and so will you. And that if you lag behind some, I will remain with an open hand and willing shoulder…That is the promise I make. Before we’re lovers, we shall be friends. And after time has gone and had its way, I will forgive you for having grown old. And hope you can do the same.
Time is our canvas and your essence are my oils, your presence is my brush and palette knife…and together we’ll blend the colors and from palette to cloth. There shall be you, and there shall be me…till there is us. Art…and harmonies.

Love, Matthew