I love you. It pains me to see you doubting my place in your life.
You are the storm that brings rain to the earth at the end of a scorching summer, letting the orange hues of a fall take over. I can feel the raindrops splatter on my cheeks as I breathe in the petrichor and it’s all you; the smell of you in my nostrils, infiltrating my burnt lungs, your soft kisses across my face when I have my eyes closed.
I no longer believe there are any rules in love, because mine for you looks nothing like what I imagined it to be. You have never starred in my school girl fantasies, nor were you a part of the more sensible desires I held for men when I grew older, and you were most certainly not the woman I considered loving. No, you, my Darling, are more real than anything or anyone I have thought to or ought to have loved. This love, it’s consuming me and I will happily let it, for it’s not taking away from who I am, but bringing the woman who has been hiding inside of me, starved for affection, now happily satiated.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I don’t think I can ever have my fill of you, and why should I? Satiation would stagnate our love, and I have no desire to let this passion die. I long for you on days like this, when the storm rages up above. I ache for you in the summer sun as the droplets of sweat painstakingly travel down my back. There isn’t a time of the day when I don’t want you and even as I fall asleep your face lingers at the outskirts of my consciousness. It is far more than simply want of something, or someone; my desire for you exists in a plane different from that of carnal desire, and I believe I have transcended into something beyond physical human desire, although I still long to be held by you, as your heart quietly thumps in my ear, louder than my own blood rushing through my ears which I soon cease to hear; it is quiet in your arms. It feels as if my mind has entwined itself with yours. We don’t have to speak, just be. I feel in your presence. Whatever feeling it may be, we needn’t speak. How is that for someone who has struggled to speak their entire life? What, love, my lovely little love.
You make me glad to be alive and I am not ashamed to admit it. I thank the universe for letting me see the sun rising above those mountains, just so I could climb the ones inside my head, only to find you. I’ve said it a million times, but you make me want to live again, something I didn’t believe I was capable of. With you, I am young again. In your presence, my eyes regain the sparkle I thought was lost forever to the unhappiness inside of me.
You grossly underestimate your place in my life when it’s so simple to understand; you are life, my life.