I could spend a lot of my time writing of the ways in which you make me feel
but really, nothing can summarise the way that you laugh,
or the way that you smile at me,
when I say something dumb or confound,
or tell you that I love you.
Nothing could represent the tilt of your head,
or the dent in the corner of your mouth
or the way your eyebrows raise in sync with my own.
I can't put into words the feel of the butterflies knocking against my ribcage -
fighting to escape from my abdomen -
jumping and clambering up desperately until they reach the back of my throat.

Nothing can tell anyone exactly how I feel about you.
I think maybe that's for the best.