it’s funny, isn’t it? how we thought we could live without each other. or at least you did and here we are now, you came crashing back into me. i’ve never told you that i’ve died a little inside every day since you left. but i’m sure you know it. you saw the deepest parts of my being, so you have to know.
when we lay there three days ago in your bedroom at 6:42 in the morning, i felt it again. i felt i was home again after months of being away, homesick. your body pressed up against mine, my arm around you, my lips so close to your neck that i breathed onto your skin. (i was trying not to burn holes into it with all the love that was spilling out of my lungs.)
you, you, you. that’s all i need. i could wake up like this every day and still couldn’t get bored with it. with you.
it’s already been nineteen months and i love you more and more by each passing day. i don’t think it will change in the near future.
i’ve never given up on you. on us. even if i wanted to, i wouldn’t be able to do it. we’re connected in a way that words cannot describe. i’m attached to you and you cannot do anything about it, neither can i. it scares me sometimes that when i try to imagine my life five, ten, fifteen years from now, i either see myself with you or dead.
this is it. you are it. you are under my skin, you are every nerve in my body, the blood in my veins, the beating that makes my heart feel less lonely inside my ribcage. i’m made up of you. if they cut me open, i would bleed the colour of your swollen lips.
i love you.
you, you, you.
I get way too sensitive when I get attached to someone. I can detect the slightest change in the tone of their voice, and suddenly I’m spending all day trying to figure out what I did wrong.
I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there’s nothing but light when I see you.