915301

"What does love mean to you?" Her voice lingered ghastly in the night sky,

Sitting with our thighs pressed against one another,

The unknowing thought of our breaths mixing together,

I told her exactly what love meant to me. 

 

Love is feeling my palms slick with precipitation at the thought of her,

the shaky breath that floats and fills the crisp, cold air, 

every tear that falls whenever she's away,

the uncontrollable vibrations running through to the tips of my fingers.

 

Love is gentle and delicate, 

to work so hard for it, only to have it simply slip away from my grasps,

it is feeling vulnerable and exposed, having her see right through me,

the secret deliberations of whether I am still worth it to her.

 

It is universal, no need for translation,

it is felt through the single touch that causes goosebumps to raise on my arms,

the attentive conversations on topics that are passionate to me, 

falling breathless at how her smile glows underneath the sun, 

or how her dress twirls to the cadence of the beats.

 

This indescribable emotion of love is what makes us complex human beings,

the soft, yet loud beating of my heart,

rattling at my brittle bones,

wanting to escape and hold her for an eternity. 

 

It's looking into her eyes and seeing my reflection blinking back, 

knowing that she sees no one else, but me.

Those annoying butterflies that fluttered in my stomach,

the hard lump in my throat, 

as I had anticipated her answer that determined our futures. 

 

Love is the baby pink that dances across her cheeks after a compliment,

being able to recognize her sweet scent of strawberry body wash in my bed sheets,

being in comfortable silences, where we fall into our own individuality. 

 

Love is having no boundaries, 

willing to go far for her,

having sacrifices, no matter the degree.

 

It is missing her because I could never have enough,

feeling my heart drop to the pit of my stomach at the sound of trouble,

being there, always there for her.

 

Finding her, my missing piece, 

as she makes me complete. 

 

Love is her. 

 

Her extraordinary skills of communication,

the trust and consent,

showing me, allowing me to be a part of her life.

 

Every little thing I feel is mainly,

Because I love her. 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741