It’s the strangest thing, love.
Everyone has their way
To define it,
To feel it,
To show it,
To gain it,
To lose it,
To want it.

As for me, you’ve shown me all of these,
Because if I don’t love you

Then I don’t know what love is yet.

If it isn’t thinking of you in the cracks between moments and the most important hours, as I fall asleep, I dream, and I wake

If it isn’t reaching for your hand even when I know I won’t find it in the darkness of my bedroom

If it isn’t finding the scent of you on my clothes and remembering the taste of your lips on mine

If it isn’t praying for your smile regardless of the price I have to pay for it

If it isn’t my chest tightening every time I think of you in someone else’s arms

If it isn’t cursing to the sky when you’d rather have someone else

Then I don’t know what love is,

Yet.