For all those times I didn’t say “I love you”

I’m a romantic at heart, really.

Not a love-you-for-a-day, paper-craft project kind though.

No, the love I have for you is the soul-deep longing kind of love that makes me ache when you leave.

The kind of love that makes me want to give up my demons because I never liked them anyway.

The kind of love that doesn’t wait but plunges head first and holds fast, with branches that reach out and roots that go deep.

The kind of love that makes mistakes and can be a jerk and eats pizza, has curves, and stays up too late because you let me be human.

You don’t pin me to the heavens and the stars like another butterfly, dead and still in a glass-pane grave.

But still I wonder why you would ever choose me, why you continue to choose me when I can’t see the beauty for the me.

when I can’t see the beauty for the me

The me who has to walk away. The me who can be so full of pain she can’t breathe.

You give a love that soothes when my emotions implode and threaten to burn it all.

You give a love I can’t explain, that feels so near, yet far away.

My heart didn’t want you but I felt pulled anyway.

How can I explain? It’s as if, at the moment I met you, the path of my life diverged:

become who I thought I was or intensely, relentlessly pursue something beyond my reasoning.

I had to choose you because I wouldn’t be me without you.

I can’t promise forever through another DIY but I won’t lie: I love you too deeply and am too grateful to let myself slip by.

I don’t always say that I love you because it is an integral part of me, a known, a truth, the tatoo my heart beats to.

Iloveyou-Iloveyou-Iloveyou: the tatoo my heart beats to

 

 

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