I wish I had words to describe the fire you've set beneath my ribcage; the way it began as kindling, and the way it grew into a dull roar like the pulse I can hear behind my ear drums. It is a steady beat that breaks the monotony of silence in the late hours of night. I can pick out half-memories in my mind that tell me I was aware of you always.

It feels like hope when warm sunlight kisses my cheek: a quiet kind of thing that whispers and never shouts. The way hands seem to find each other in the dark and ache to fill the space between each finger with another's.

I want to explore with you; to trace the outlines of a map on your skin and follow those lines to all the places we've never been.

I want to learn the history rooted in your bones and recite it like my favorite poem. I want to know what makes you grow and where your gravity is centered; how words taste as they form on your tongue and how they look like art when you speak, because when you speak you move mountains in me.