Every inclination, compulsion inside of me is begging, pleading for perfection- the sole ambition for my constant revision. When I am unable to portray the extent and full capacity of my complete infatuation- although what I'm feeling is a complete contradiction to the meaning itself because it is not a short-term admiration, but a lifelong passion for you- and when I am not capable, when I do not express the absolute sentiment- no, the "kilig" I feel when you're next to me, when I feel you inside of me not only physically but emotionally, I feel... I feel as though I am not making you see the way you have taken over me not in the way a hurricane devours a city, but in the way spring brings all of the flowers to bloom and the grass turns its brightest green and the birds begin to sing... you, you are my spring.