sometimes
i get the sudden urge to pour every aspect of my soul into the pages of an old, empty book
where i can write endlessly in emense detail about every single reason as to why you are the love of my life
and about how i bet you dont remember that afternoon in the coffee shop downtown where you looked into my eyes and grabbed my hand for the first time
and that you've probably forgotten about that morning where you walked to my house in the pouring rain
but i haven't
because what you dont know is that it meant the absolute world to me
or how you stitched up all the broken pieces of myself, unconsciously sewing in tiny bits of your heart until finally we became
one