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Vulnerability at its Finest

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How do I begin describing you?

Should I start with the obvious?

What is the obvious?

Is it your eyes, so dark and deep that I never know if I’m drowning, and frankly I never wish to know for that would mean returning to the bleak surface of the world?

Is it your mouth, a blushed and pretty pink that can do things to me that would make an elderly person scream in shock?

Is it your tongue that can never stay imperfectly still behind your perfect teeth that makes me forget it doesn’t belong to me?

What about your hair? A color most people would describe as mousy but oh I know better than that. Your hair is softer than it looks, more diverse than it looks, is more than it looks. I could run my fingers through it all day and never tire.

Your hands, how could I forget about your hands? Small hands, strong hands, hands that could conquer the world if you wish, but you’re far too grumpy for that aren’t you? Your hands that have killed, hands that have healed, hands that have saved people. But you’ve done all that for me haven’t you? Healed me, saved me, yes. But kill, oh your hands have killed me every time I could look but not reach for them with my own.

How is it that people condense you into a single sentence?

How is it I can condense you into a single word?



Four letters, a syllable, only a small breath required to state.

But don’t you know that you steal every breath of mine?

Yes, you.

You who still believe that you’re boring and simple because I don’t have the words to describe you.

You’ve already described me in every possible way you could think of. It’s gotten to the point where I would much rather live in the world you’ve painstakingly painted with your words.

I’d rather die there too.

But you knew that already, didn’t you?

You might not know everything, I promise I don’t either, but you’ve seem to make it a mission to learn all you can about me. Or was it the other way around?

Either way it is the most endearing thing you could have done.

How often do I tell you that?

I love you.

I love you.

Have I ever truthfully told someone that? Yes? No?

You would know.

You love me too by the way.

Wasn’t sure if you noticed that by now. Then again, you are smarter than you look.

I love you.

Have I said that already? Yes? No?

I just want you to know.

The world could end today and as long as I was with you, here in our crowded flat with its jagged ends and pieces that you smoothed out with you I would die happily.

I just want you to know that.

I love you.