The Sweetest Thing

You are a shaft of light; a burst of colour. You came into my life and nothing was ever the same again.

Love letters are trite and tired — and I am trite and tired — and I love you. I will write you every mundane detail of my heart. I will press glitter to it, feathers, stickers — I will make it shine. Catch your eye. Here is a letter. Something you can hold when you cannot hold me. Something that will always be true. Something that I carved out of my  body, from just under the rib.

Put down a word: Home. You are home. My head on your chest is home. Looking at you from across the room is home. Put down a word: Spark. You light my bones up in the middle of the night. When we kiss, when we touch, there are sparks. Hot and wild. Sparks, like stars exploding, like the light behind my eyes when you laugh.

If I get to spend the next seventy years of my life finding new ways to say the same old thing to you, I will count myself lucky. And if somewhere along the way I run out of words, I will move so close to you that you can feel my eyelashes against your cheek and I will say it simple and plain:

I love you. I love you. I love you.

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