I wrote poems on your skin and the ink is permanent, my dear, even though our story isn't. You've always been the person who stopped me from digging my own grave and taught me that death isn't a good friend and I'm so glad that I met you in the first place. You're not the shelter that protected me from the storm but it's okay, I enjoy the aftershock of your lightning anyway. So thank you... for everything.

I love you. I do. And I don't have to own you to know it.