sometimes I wish my words would mesh together like our heartbeats when they act as one rhythm, one metronome, one solid sound. but they’re separate and un-aligned and it drives me crazy to think my syllables aren’t organized. but we are, right? we’re steady and smooth like the feel of your eyelids first thing in the morning or the mist of my breath when its foggy outside. that rough patch of skin stretching over your elbows spreads a little to your hands when you’re tired and I can feel the aching leak from your pores and I hope you can’t do the same to me. I want to be perfect in your eyes, please?
(I’ll tell you a secret you can’t tell anyone else – the only time I ever started to feel beautiful was when I told you that you were, we were, and you pressed your fingertips to my cheekbones and said you were only beautiful because I was) and I know its shallow but those stupid butterflies in my stomach resurrect themselves when I see the top of your head bobbing down the stairs, because you’re perfect, you’re perfect, and you’re mine.
I could try to tell you everything I loved about the world (the way a French word sounds rolling off your tongue when you actually pronounce it right and the warm feeling of fresh tea in the morning and how Wednesdays just seem so much better than Tuesdays and the way I still marvel at the color of your eyes) but really, that’d just be stupid. because I could just say I love you, and only you, and it would be the most honest thing I’ve ever said.



(i was going through old files and i came across this. i swear i don't remember writing it.)



with so much love,
sr.