I'll never be more disappointed in the words
Their job is to conglomerate into cohesive, coherent expressions
Always, they've done this for me
True, their message has changed
But their capacity to carry out meaning, order, and a clear, articulate thought has been unwavering
But I turn to them now and they are clumsy, weak, light, and foreign
I fumble on these useless and tiresome words as I think up a way to communicate to you just what it is you mean to me
I love you
Is white noise
Every combination is an understatement
Photos can't capture it
My paintings can't replicate it
This love demands to be felt and that is all I can do
With every intracacy and nuance of my existence, every book I ever read, every lesson I've ever learned, everything I was, am, and will be, ever aspect of my being, every ounce of my soul, all that I have
Because I can't translate it to words, I will have to suffice in keeping it in it's rawest form
And while I will never be able to express it to consummation,
I feel so wholely and genuinely in love with you