Always.

You are all the poetry in my heart.

My muse.

I scribble my love for you into words,

Attempt to immortalize you on every line.

As the great Plato once said:

"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet."

But human language is absurdly limited.

There's so much that can't be put into words.

Still, I try.

This little thing inside my chest might burst otherwise.

So here goes.

You were the chance I was afraid to take.

I'm glad I took it anyway.

I'm scared as hell to want you.

Here I am wanting you anyway.

And I'm eternally grateful for having found you.

Cliché, isn't it?

But really, we could have easily just flashed by one another,

Like two pieces of cosmic dust.

How lucky am I instead

To love and be loved

To want and to have

To find without searching

And to finally be found

No more hiding.

"I love you."

Three little words

Too simple, in my opinion.

Too soft to convey such ravenous feelings inside.

I whisper them to you all the time.

But I swear I give it every scream within my chest.

You're my center.

There's no looking away.

And if my life is repeated a thousand times,

In a million different lifetimes,

Still you, you and again, you.