To observe without rigid purpose

I know a woman
The more she talks, the more beautiful she gets
Once upon a time I loved myself this way
The more I expressed, the more beautiful I saw myself
Now I am happier saying very little
It is the strangest place to be
After having so much to say for so long
I wonder if I will ever be able to express so much at once again
The woman is someone I admire
Is there jealousy?
A kind of affectionate envy at such deft and natural ability
In these moments I see myself married to them all
These strange, beautiful men and women in my life
Not a marriage of children and houses and finance
But of softly half-spoken tenderness
Fleeting in the awkwardness of life
Connecting and then parting
Changing each-other
Sowing in each-other tiny seeds of creativity
Seeds that cannot be destroyed or thrown away
But that grow and become a part of us
A romantic view of dynamic chemical memory
So, and all the world is romance

Human contact, even here, in this world of words alone, can be so exhausting
Yet I crave it
Perhaps it takes from one place
And gives life to another