Irrevocably * Irresponsibly * Irrationally

I loved you irrevocably,
as if the heart were not a thing
that could be called back.

Irresponsibly,
with no regard for consequence,
for distance,
for all the sensible reasons
we should have remained untouched.

Irrationally,
because reason had nothing to do with you.

We made sense.
That was the problem.

In all the ways that mattered,
you fit beside me
with an ease that felt
almost inevitable.

It was the world around us
that made no sense of it.

And still,
irrationally,
irresponsibly,
irrevocably,

I loved you
as though making sense
might somehow be enough.

I loved you past wisdom.
Past caution.
Past the point where love
should have learned
to save itself.

And maybe that was
the terrible beauty of it.

I knew better.

I loved you anyway.

Not because I thought
you would be mine.

Not because I believed
love could change the ending.

But because somewhere
beneath choice and consequence,
beneath right and wrong,
beneath every life we could
and could not live,

my soul recognized yours.

And once it did,

there was no unloved version of you
left inside me.