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I love you and I’ve run out of excuses of why I shouldn’t say it.

I’m not saying this out of insecurity.
I’m saying this from a place of confidence because even if you break up with me, I want you to know.

I don’t want to have held in what I know. What I have known since February, maybe before.

I want to be vulnerable with you because I’ve never felt like I could before.

So I need to say this to you unprompted.
I need to say it first.
I love you.
I love this version of you.
I don’t love the idea of you.
I love this life with you.
I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else.
Do you want me to love you?
I mean do you actually want THIS love. THIS life.
Because if you want me to love you, truly.
It will be engulfing.
I will love you to depths you have never felt.
It will be perspective shifting.
It will change both of us.

And here’s the thing.
I don’t think you’ve ever been loved properly before.
And I’d like to do just that.
There are ghosts of you.
In words that don’t matter.
Ones I forget until I say them in a moment of absent mindedness and realize I do because of you.
Why is it the deepest, most real feelings are the hardest to write?

Why do I keep backspacing over the truth?
Like elastic being stretched apart,
Only to be slapped back together again once the resistance eases.
I crash back into you every. ****. time.
I never thought I’d find a snore so comforting.

But it proves to me every moment you’re still laying beside me.
I admire people’s words when they feel so deeply, just not their actions.

I admire my actions when I choose logic, just not my words.
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