You are the best thing to ever happen to my writing.

You, with your big eyes and little smirk.

I can’t stop writing about you

And the way you whisper to me

When I am lying with my head against your chest

Listening to the gentle rhythm of your heart.

You see, I used to write about death and depression and anger

But now, the only things that come to mind

When I put pen against paper

Are about you

And the way you kiss me

And the fluttering in my chest

Like a bird is batting it’s wings against my rib cage.

The only words that spill onto the page

Are about the times that you made me laugh until I cried

And the way you teased me about it

The first time you held my hand

And how my face flamed scarlet

And my heart felt like it might explode.

All the late night text messages

And lazy Sunday afternoons.

The only ink my pen will bleed

Is about perfume bottles, one for every year

And Moldy Peaches and Jason Mraz

Wounds healed by kisses and strong arms.

Pain refuses to be personified.

Love manifests itself in every pore of my flesh

Wrapping around me like a warm blanket just out of the dryer.

It’s this glorious, never ending sea

And we are but sailors standing in awe.

We were canyons

Dry as bones in the desert sun

But our love for each other is rain

Replenishing, reviving

Finding the cracks in the time worn Earth

And patching them up.

We are pieces of broken glass

But our love is glue

Holding us together.

We are a mosaic

We are beautiful together.


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