limerence.

𝘾𝘼𝙉 𝙄 𝘽𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝙔 𝙈𝘼𝙂𝘿𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙉𝙀

Darling, nothing could have prepared me for loving you as fiercely as I do. Forgive me, I find myself so deeply caught up in the throes of existence that I find myself forgetting that there is a beautiful being in my midst, one that seems endlessly capable of making my heart sing her name with abandon. I don't always know what to do, and a part of me wishes to apologize for that too, but the rest of me sees that as a waste of time.

After all, aren't we human? Haven't we committed ourselves to learning how to make music with each other's heartstrings, regardless of how many wrong notes we strum along the way? We may not have forever, but we have right now. That's something I struggle to comprehend, because there is so much of me that wishes I could love you until the end of time itself. The average human lifespan feels too finite for a love like this.

Darling, I want to make a home out of your heart and scribble countless poems on the wall. I want to let my hands massage the poems that I couldn't find the words for into your skin. Can we fight against this broken world together? Though the world around us may crumble with time, can we please salvage this?

My fear of loss is strong these days. I never know who's coming or staying, the door to my life and out of it is never locked, but I pray that you never leave. In moments like these, love tastes bittersweet, not because of anything you've done, but because of the longing I have for you. I'd rather focus on the way you refuse to love me with anything less than tenderness.

I'd rather focus on the way you refuse to let me box up my emotions and keep them neat, desiring me regardless of how messy I am. I'd rather focus on the way your laughter springs up from within your chest at the corniest of puns. I'd rather focus on the sweet sight of your smile widening when the words I love you slip from between my lips.

Every sound you make, every sigh, every groan, every whisper – it's all music to me. I've thanked you for existing before, but even that doesn't feel like enough when I think about how warm you've made me without even needing to touch me. I don't know if I'll ever have the words, but I'll continue writing for you until I find them, and afterwards. I'll continue spilling this ink for you.

I'll continue opening this heart up to you. I'll continue loving you until my last breath, until these lips can move no more, until these hands can no longer hold yours. I don't know how much longer we have, but we have now. We have this. We have us, and that is more than enough.