i was thirteen the first time i told you i loved you
it came out more of a question than a statement
because i was young and really, what did i know of love
but i believed it, i did

i was fifteen the next time i told you i loved you
but there were salted trails leaving uncomfortable truths on my face
you didn't believe me then and who could blame you,
i didn't believe myself either

i was eighteen the first time i thought i meant it
i was happy and whole and i was so, so free
the world was new and shiny and the past was behind me
so, like a flash of summer rain, i yelled it to you with all the joy of my youth

i was nineteen when the summer rain turned to floods and i swallowed the words alive
ugly, twisted vines wove their way through my carefully manicured gardens
ripping through the flowers and seeping sickness into everything they touched
i didn't love you then, i couldn't, i was broken and i was angry
and i was burning red

i was twenty five the next time i tried to say it
i wanted to mean it, i did, but even you could tell i was lying
i had spent years weeding all the thorns from my garden, begging the flowers to grow
and even though they were finally blooming, their roots were shallow

i am twenty seven when i tell you i love you now
i mean it now, like i've always meant it, even when i thought i didn't
it's not a perfect statement, it was hard to bring myself to say before your gaze, but i did it
looking at my reflection in the mirror, there's a smile on your face as you finally, finally say it back