Him

“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” ― C.G. Jung
The atmosphere of his presence is instantaneous.
It seems the silent and subtle enormity of his existence possesses the uncanny ability to warp and manipulate the very fabric of reality about his being, like the wavering heat shimmers dancing above the asphalt on a scorching day. But his presence never demands attention. It is so profoundly innocuous and in such an unimposing a manner, it seems almost paradoxical. 
Reality quietly and purposefully makes an exception for him.
There is no grand orchestral symphony when he enters a room, no resonance of other-worldly power emitting from his being, or a dark and fascinating mystery about him which leaves countless minds awake and curious. In fact it's his humbleness which makes him all the more powerful. Because with him he brings such peace, such clarity and this purifying sense that even the most dire a circumstance seems that little bit better with his presence.
 The sturdily-built flaws of my composition have begun to dissolve against his touch. The hard-wired mainframe of delusion, insecurity and self-castigation which have always lain just beneath the surface of my attitude, are slowly and gently unraveling. 
I observe the overwhelming and calamitous mess of the workings of my brain and thoughts through his perspective - erratic and sporadic brushmarks of dazzling color and texture which seem senseless and random, but when you take a step back, come together to form something quite together and wholly beautiful.
Our conversations illuminate our evenings with wild tangents and passionate rants, dissolving in laughter or often tears, but always with an undeniable current of electricity and synchronicity humming through every syllable we exchange, in a way that I find myself shunning the false security of social media and technology - a dependency on communication inevitably shrouded in negativity anyway. I no longer feel the need to be validated, to prove myself.
Even on a physical level, I see myself differently. I look in the mirror at the soft curves and dimples of my body that the media have so successfully convinced me into believing are wrong and repulsive, and I feel love. I trace my finger tips across the warm, wobbly topography of my anatomy, feel my pulse gently beating rhythmically beneath the tiny little hairs on my arms and legs and wrap my arms around my knees, hug them to my chest and implode with gratitude that I am alive, and a love of the person I have grown to become. 
The material of me has begun to shift. Once frantic streets and 24 hour cities, I find that world no longer holds much solace and depth for me. He has exhaled into my being mountains, lakes, rivers, forests and wilderness, as if he himself is a manifestation of these all in human form, risen from the very earth itself. 
I no longer feel that desperation to find out who exactly I am, because I've come to the realisation that perhaps I don't actually need to know. As far as I'm aware, you are what you love, and all the things I love and bring me such happiness have become so much clearer to me, and that which has bought me false happiness for so long has fallen back into the shadows, paling in comparison.
I guess in all, his love has bought me freedom.
Because when you tread the path hand in hand with a person like that, a person of such harmony and beauty that it's almost impossible to believe they are actually human, you know every decision you make will be the right one, because even if it's not, you will find a way to make it so.
We are so different. The colours of our souls are on completely opposite poles, but we are born of the same spectrum. His mind operates on the 'How', mine operates on the 'Why', but the important thing is we are still asking questions. The beauty in our differences is that daily we continue to teach each other lessons, bring one another to epiphanies and realisations whether we intended to or not. But it's our similarities that magnetise us to one another, a kindredship that runs on a level so fundamentally deep, that there's nothing more important in the world.
Am I am hypocrite for writing this post following my last, calling out the problematic conventions of modern love? Maybe. But I've never been one to shun the idea of love and relationships themselves - that's preposterous. I guess the only thing I was ignorant to was that maybe to be able to love yourself, sometimes you have to see yourself through the eyes of someone who does.
And I just thank whatever part of the universe conspired to put him into my path.
*
"You are everything."
"You know you don't mean that."
"No, you are not my everything, as I should not be yours,"
He smiles.
"But you are everything."