there isn't another feeling in the world that can up the feeling of waking up by his side

I was the book you opened but never finished filled with words that would have been better left unsaid but were spoken anyway and too many pages left unwritten

You don't need another human being to make your life complete, but let's be honest. Having your wounds kissed by someone who doesn't see them as disasters in your souls but cracks to put their love into is the most calming thing in the world.

I don't feel a barrier inbetween us, as long as nobody is looking.

I have a habit to turn people into poetry before I even touch them and for that, I'm sorry. Im sorry I turned your eyes into a haiku about the ocean, about how they crashed into me and dragged me under before I could even take a breath. I'm sorry I turned your kisses into an epic about the hero that saved the entire city singlehandedly with his lips of satin gold. I'm sorry I turned Your heartbeat into ink spilling out of pens and fresh sheets of paper. I could write a library full of stories about each second your skin touched mine and I felt like I was on fire. I could write a novel about how we first touched each other's skin for the first time. I could write sonnets about how your smile just made everything in the world seem to stop in motion. I knew I would spend forever trying to burn the feel of your fingers through my skin but that's not now. People write about love and how good
it feels. They write about the pain from heartbreak. Nobody talks about the crying in love or the feeling of heartbreak where it's like you're drowning and the feeling you get when you try to put your feet on the solid ground but there isn't anything there. Nobody writes about how some days you feel like you're flying and soaring and the next you plunged straight to the ground. Nobody talks about how love feels like it's magical at times and points where it's tears staining bedsheets and sleepless nights. I took a break from writing but the second you got me hooked my thumbs hurt from typing. I want to spend my entire ******* life telling people how your lips Against my neck felt like Sunday mornings and clean bedsheets. And how I felt so **** safe in your arms. My home doesn't have four walls and a bed, it's with you. In between your arms. You are the one place I don't want to escape
from. I want to sell twenty million copies of a book telling how you would ramble about your fascinations or how you get frazzled about the twins or cars. People write about love and lust and heartbreak. I'm sorry I am one of these people. There aren't enough powerful words to describe to you how I feel and how bad it hurts when I know it's can't work. I'm sorry for turning you into poetry when I met you. When a writer falls in love with you, you never die. It's constantly in their writing. And you're a person who deserves to be remembered for eternity.

You are running out of fingers to count on every night you curl up in bed and add another finger-another tally- of the days when we don't talk

About this time every year the flowers start to bloom and the thought of you starts to pop up in my head again.
I can not even look at lilac trees the same.
You once told me I was beautiful like a lilac tree.
It sounds silly and I know but those words are forever graved into a little chalk board in my brain.
Little did you know they were going  to haunt me like a sour after taste as I watch mine grown in my front yard.