“Destiny Is In The Details”
a narrative written in prose by Kenn Edward Tenorio
I always thought it was silly, almost preposterous,
how one soul can go on its course thinking, believing,
that somewhere out there lives a better half,
a perfectly carved out rock that flawlessly fits its cracks,
that somewhere out there plays a song so harmonious
and intricate it almost defies your heart’s
undulating legatos and rugged staccatos.
I always thought it was impossible, of course,
for another set of eyes to meet mine and see
the calm sunset in them, let alone the storms of
love and passion that dwell in them.
Could it be, I always asked myself, that a person,
brave as he or she may seem, is destined for another,
for a soul that was once unseen, but will
eventually be eternally felt? A presence
like no other — like that of the wind that comes
at the perfect time to dance with the chimes
just when you are about to sleep;
or that of the waves that crash into the shore
as we walk hand in hand along the horizon.
They say destiny decides who touches your life,
but only your heart decides
who touches your soul.
Is my heart on gallons of coffee, then?
Because when it found you, when it finally found you,
it decided to do way more than simply touch my soul.
Your heart touches the core of my soul,
and then it tickles, it awakens it,
it uplifts it.
Your heart does to my soul what spring does
to the trees, what butterflies do to the flowers,
what flowers do to a garden.
So maybe I was silly, almost preposterous,
to think that a soul like yours was merely
a soul that was out there to be discovered;
Your soul deserves more than just discovery —
Your soul deserves nurturing,
it deserves gold, silver and platinum,
and a diamond full of joy, friendship and truth;
It deserves a home; that which not only complements it
but also encourages it; a home that provides,
that shelters, that caresses, that speaks the words
no poet can ever speak, and creates the movements
no dancer can ever perform.
Most importantly, your soul is a soul
that deserves to be chosen,
It is the soul I choose to laugh with
on a sunny summer morning,
and the same soul that I choose to
lean on my shoulder, or cry on my chest,
on a snowy winter afternoon.
It is the soul whose whispers of affection
I choose to crescendo into unadulterated
screams of love.
It is the soul whose baby steps I choose
to cultivate and help turn into leaps of faith,
into grand gestures of passion.
You are my soulmate,
just like all the other days before and after this,
I choose you…
And there goes your golden heart,
I can hear it,
I can feel it;
It chooses me, too.