You are nothing short of a fantasy.
The motion pictures in my head are jealous they do not get to call you mine like I do, because the horror in my dreams weep with the thought that it does not have fingers to intertwine with yours. Any vine intertwined without you in the woods is unworthy of growing, because you are every source of light there could possibly be in this world. Try to convince me you do not create the axis this world spins on, and I will not believe you, because you are the foundation to my home of a heart that I have longed to build with you.