i could write a hundred poem about your sad brown eyes and i could compare the sight of you to an awaited sunrise after a lonely night and i could tell you that i love you more than the wolves love full moons or gods could ever love their creations but—

i can’t.

you doom me into speechlessness with a simple smile. i’m as putty as clay and as vulnerable as a petal and as weak as a child every time you do as much as touch the back of my hand with yours. so yeah, i can’t. i can’t recite you poetry or beg you to love me but—

i’m yours.

i’m all yours and you know it and that’s all what truly matters.