Cauê with a shaggy head of hair when he first wakes up.
Cauê awake before dawn, at his desk, drawing.
Cauê always studying, tracing, a pen in hand.
Cauê waiting for you to rise, languidly, and find him in his corner.
The start of a new life, a new view looking forward.
Cauê woke you up to you, a man like a bolt of lightning, a shock of bright light that pierces you with all of its force.
Who crossed oceans to be near you, whisper your name so only you can hear. Who makes you feel larger than the space you inhabit. Who, in a packed subway car, makes everything else feel like background noise.
Cauê who never complains that you always ride shotgun and reaches over to the passenger side to squeeze your leg and remind you you’re not alone. You’re not alone.
A man who likes roses and Sheepshead Bay and pizza extra late at night.
Thick thighs.
Strong hands.
Cauê who smokes a joint, inhaling until he’s asleep, dreaming.
Cauê who holds you close like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done.
Cauê with a painter’s hands, tools for excavating the world, drawing thought into form.
He holds you in those hands when other men wouldn’t. Always, whenever. He is not afraid.
A man who, arms and legs armed with ink, looks like he would start a fight, win a fight, but never fights.
Cauê who cries when the world knocks him
down
but always stands back up.
Who doesn’t eat meat, no way, not animals, never once in 16 years, who looks strong, tough, like a man’s man, but who is in fact soft, tender, patient. A stream, not an ocean current.
Cauê who looks like his father, if only his father could see him back. Look him in the eyes and see him for the son he’s become, but his world is dark morning, noon, evening, sleep. A dark world only filled with sound. When you’re blind, sound is everything.
Cauê who calls his father to paint him a picture of sight: the shadow of light falling in an open window, the size of a new table, the tree lined streets to reach the nearest grocery store. Cauê who became a caretaker, father and son trading places, surviving their whole lives because of the other.
Cauê, the almond-toned man who is yours forever.
But forever is a long time. You wonder: can a love this big really last forever?
Cauê who ran away, but really ran toward. Forward. Who chose to run toward you.
He chose your lips, he chose falling asleep next to you, he chose waking up next to you, he chose making the coffee in the mornings, he chose sitting down across the table and filling up two mugs—which is to say he chose inviting the ritual of your lives to begin.