i could write a hundred poem about your sad brown eyes and i could compare the sight of you to an awaited sunrise after a lonely night and i could tell you that i love you more than the wolves love full moons or gods could ever love their creations but—

i can’t.

you doom me into speechlessness with a simple smile. i’m as putty as clay and as vulnerable as a petal and as weak as a child every time you do as much as touch the back of my hand with yours. so yeah, i can’t. i can’t recite you poetry or beg you to love me but—

i’m yours.

i’m all yours and you know it and that’s all what truly matters.

i’m constantly screaming but no one’s looking at me; should i scream louder until my voice is heard or should i stay silent until they notice the change?