there is so much pulchritude in the way we love.
sometimes it is so much to bare when the moon drowns into the mountains and the forests cry out.
i feel so enamored with you, more than the horizon even allows. it scares me to think that i am just a disaster waiting to happen, and the way i find myself in golden hues, romantics, and long nights of brittle scarlet bones— they will fade into oblivion when you decide i was never a rose, and always the roots.
yes, i do love the way we love. but i don't think you understand how terrifying it is for me to keep in the back of my head that i am not worth loving.
