To love is to invite tragedies in your soul, disclosing your heart vulnerable to every pain.

But if love is this beautiful, I think I would smile to even the worst tragedies and say, "Welcome! If you are love, though you bring pain, I wish you never go away."

My tears have made puddles, which then turned into oceans, until there's no more land. I didn't make a boat. I thought it would subside, but now I'm drowning in the rising tides.

Your eyes are what spoke to me the loudest, as it did when I first caught your stare. And I still fall for your wink and your lids' sweet fluttering, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph.

I crave for the sound of your voice - gentle and affirming. I remember how each time we talk on the phone your words would slide its way down my throat right through my heart, melting it smooth. I still fall for your laugh, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph.

I ache for every word you've spoken, smitten with tender affection, to again escape your lips. I think I've never told you before how your good-nights are more comforting than the softness of my bed. I still fall for your puns, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph.

I sit here two thousand miles from you, sharing the same sunset view. I whisper to the winds to carry these words to you, and bask the air that you breathe with my kisses too. Then maybe it wouldn't be that far of a gap, even right now, at 5:22, falling in love with your photograph.

You have sunk deeply in my heart and more deeply still each day like sinking in a bottomless quicksand.

And I think I'll fall endlessly to your love like an airplane descending but never lands.

it'd cut through my sour, orange moments, as my blue sheets remind me of you. My pastel mug wouldn't remind me of tea, but your confectionary lips in lieu.

Contrarily, I'd destroy my like for maroon and I'd never have my eyes red. I'd hate every crimson flower, and disdain every green. And I'll stay away from cherries and tangerine.

But loving you is not a condition, but an overwhelming actuality. Loving you is blue. Like the subtle and unchanging hue of the skies, the tint of the ocean and its tides, I will forever love you.

I like whites - clean and crisp. White shirts and white sheets. White mugs and warm milk and white winter rains. But if you were coffee, I'd spill you over every white and love every stain.

I like organized - neat and nice. Made bed and matching blankets. Tidy shelves and closet. But if in my room you're the clutter, I don't think I'd ever fix it.

I like stories and poems, novels that get me hooked. I like plots with twisted endings, and my heart being took. But if you were a word in a chapter, I'd rather read you forever - over and over - than finish the book.