When I meet someone who speaks a different language
I ask them to teach me how to say “I love you” in their home tongue.
In this exchange they always ask me “why?”
I tell them because I’ll never know who I’ll fall in love with. The least I can do is bend my tongue to shape the sound of his home.
It never dawned on me that I grew knowing how to say I love myself in 3 languages;
I never talked to mi corazon in my language of love,
Never rolled R’s to make my own heart flutter.
Bahibik, was never spoken in the mirror,
I spent years learning how to love men in languages I can only utter 3 words in.
With 17 years spent of never saying I love you to my reflection,
My languages are commonly known,
My languages are a love song,
My languages are spoken by angels
They say a language is lost every 14 minutes.
The language of myself is a forever evolving language of love,
I can never seem to understand it,
but it’s worth learning.
So that when I do speak it fluently I can teach the man I love how to tell me he loves me.