A Letter to my Love

My Dearest Lover,

I don’t believe in using metaphors

to define people.

Metaphors are romanticized.

If someone is defined by the

metaphor in which I put them in,

people no longer see the person,

but instead see the art.

The person is no longer themselves,

they’re instead an image

of what they should be.

When I met you, however,

everything changed.

Suddenly, you weren’t a man

with green eyes and a bright smile.

You were a temple of serenity.

A holy sanctuary in which

I am truly free.

Suddenly, you weren’t a man

with a gentle voice and a kind heart.

You were a candlelit cabin

warmed by a fireplace

in the middle of winter.

A cabin that smells of wood

and permeates the smell of home.

Suddenly, you weren’t a man

with soft lips and a strong embrace.

You were a mug of warm chocolate

on a cold, rainy day.

A mug that warmed my hands,

silenced my stress, and relaxed my nerves.

I look at you,

and I don’t see a regular man

because you are so much more to me

than a regular man.

You are art, you are light, you are love,

but most importantly,

you’re my art, my light, my love

and I am eternally grateful for you.