Hey, Lover -

Hush. Just listen.

You make me wish I wrote love songs, and remind me that my iPod is inadequate, because there's not a single song on there that fits us just right.

You steal my breath with the softest of kisses, and leave me staring after you, smoky-eyed with wonder, a tiny ember of pure happiness warming me from my stomach. You draw up champagne from a well of acid, distilling it to something enviable with the slow slide of your tongue along my lower lip.

You sound like Pachelbel's Canon, ska-style.

Burning cotton candy sunsets remind me of the two of us together: crazy, gorgeous, passionate, and sweet to the point of being cannibalistic-carnival scary. Every time the sky bursts into flame, I move to be closer to you, because that's how we are and how we're meant to be.

You hold me like I'm so special that you might break if I were to slide out of your arms. It makes me want to cling to you and promise that you'll never be broken again, but I don't say the words because I can't stay in your arms for too much longer, regardless of how much I want to. All I can promise is that, even broken, you'll always be beautiful, the imperfect repairs showing off your strength.

You don't hear me say "I love you" often, because those three words never seem to cover it. This is more intricate than a simple three-word phrase, more heart-achingly universal and cosmic than the pedestrian expression. I think we know that, but we don't have the time to describe forever to each other, so "I love you," inadequate as it is, will have to do.

Hey, Lover -

I love you.