Loving him
is like swimming
the depths
of the unknown ocean.

Unpredictable and dark,
yet you are drawn near
because of its secrets.

Loving him
is sweet torture.
Like a Nightingale
trapped inside an iron cage.

A tune for a song.
A song for
my melancholic reason.

Loving him
is being free
of boundaries
and pretenses.

A mirror
that always reminds me
who I am
and what I can be.

Loving him is
like keeping
both feet
on the ground
while his hands
wrap around my wrist,
forcing myself
To fly with him.

Loving him is
tasting the first bite
of every
surprise possibility.

I always see
myself craving
for his abrupt
trickery,
A magic only
him can manipulate
and see.

But all these things
can never be done
nor never be written
if only I said
those words
ever so quickly.

I am loving him.
And he doesn't seem
to know that now.

Or does he?