I don’t love you like a woman typically loves a man,
With mushy words and hearts and fireworks.
I love you like the ocean crashes onto the shore.
Or how Spring melts the snow with its warmth.

I love you in a way, that a child loves their childhood toy,
Unconditionally without cause, simply because I can.
My love for you isn’t black and white,
I love you more with shades of gray.

I love you with heartfelt immaturity, like a teenager
In love for the first time, finding any reason to fall head
Over heels again, and again,
Because you make me feel like I’m walking on clouds,
Feeling giddy about falling for you, everyday, over again
For the rest of my life.

I love you like paper soaks up ink from the pen,
Uncontrollable and hungry for more words to be,
Written of infatuation and adoration.
I love you, like the dots go above the i’s,
And the lines go through the t’s,
Or how a period at the end of strewn together words,
Somehow makes it a sentence.

I love you the way, the Sistine Chapel was painted,
With slow broad strokes, and the patience of a steady hand.

I paint you with words, the way Michaelangelo, Van Gough, and Picasso painted the world;
With beauty, undying love, devotion and truth.

And because I know of no other way to love you, than this,
You will always be a beautiful masterpiece,
That I was more than lucky enough to find,
Along the way through my journey of life.

And I promise to never repaint you,
Or tarnish your frame,
But to love you the way you were made,
Priceless Perfection...