I used to be scared of thunderstorms, but I fell deeply for one. I used to hate the lighting striking when I least expect it, now it had found a way to get a hold of my heart. Things change, but never completely; I still found and overwhelming amount to comfort when I got to the eye of the storm and I had always loved the rain. Not everyone can get to the eye, and the times I did and still do, I've felt very lucky to.
Our relationship was never pink, we argued more than being cliché, even when we were happy, we would argue. But even so, I didn't need to hear the exact I love you, we were not like that either. You would say "you're such a *****", and I would say, "and you're an *******"; you would smile, and I would too because that was enough. It screamed I love you louder than any "I love you, boo" would. We loved passionately yet fought furiously.
And after all the times I tried figuring out what we had, asking myself why we weren't like every couple out there, realization hit me at 2:00 a.m. in the morning. I didn't want to be like everybody else because you loved me truly and I loved you endlessly. There would be times you hurt me, and I hurt you too, but the love was enough to cover.
You're a thunderstorm and I wouldn't change it for a thing, not even for the stars and the galaxies out there, or the fields of flowers around the land, not even the salty top to bottom of the sea, all the riches of the world, or the key to heaven.

You are a child of the Universe,
bright as the stars in the sky,
alive as the flowers on a meadow,
tall as a tree in a forest,
changing as the waves,
radiant as the sun,
no lesser than ground and the rocks,
the clouds or the snow.

You are a child of the Universe,
holding the landscape along your frame,
the ocean as your eyes; revolting and fierce,
the meadow blooming as your hair,
tree branches as your arms,
and your roots are your mom and dad.

I've spent restless nights writing poems to and about you with heavy eyelids; poems you'll never read, poems I'll never have the guts to let you read, poems you'll never even know about.
I've described every single part, perk, quality of you with the most beautiful words I can find in the dictionary because you don't deserve simple, ordinary words.
Even your flaws are beautiful.
And still, I cannot string any of the million words in any language together to describe you or my love for you perfectly.
And I write about you like you sank your paintbrush in a cup of universe and created hundreds of galaxies; like you placed the stars in the sky, neatly arranged them into beautiful constellations.
Here is yet another poem for and about you, written with eyelids as  heavy as the ocean at 3:36 in the morning, after deciding there was no way I could sleep as my mind was still awake and thinking about you- as always.