I never was one for autobiographies, and to be honest, I couldn’t tell you a thing about me. So instead I’ll tell you what’s inside of me, I’ll trace for you the outline of my soul, you just have to promise you’ll do the same for me someday, I want to know everything there is to know about yours, as it is the other half to my own. For as long as I remember, I swore I wasn’t human, humans are so frivolous at times and I swore I was some consequence birthed out of some fit of passion. What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that the world was too sensitive for my liking, I burned everything I touched and carved words into cement walls because the intensity of my soul possessed me like a demon in those biblical stories I couldn’t stand reading. And this fervor made me lonely, though lonely could never even begin to cover it, rather, it made my heart feel like an old stone well and echoes of my past bounced off of it. And after twenty years of the blackness I was on the brink of giving up, and to put it in more simple terms I found poetry in free falling off bridges and envied the deer for their suicide dashes. And in the metaphorical sense you could think of my heart like an old abandoned apartment, the pitter patter of the water droplets that dripped off the ceiling into a bucket, and the radiator, weighed down by rust, would groan and heave during the winter months, there was a moth-eaten mattress in the corner and books toppling over one another in heaping masses, like warfare in the 1800s. And in the plainest of language, the gig was up, I threw in the towel and shook hands with the darkness, I surrender, a triangle trying to conform amongst circles. I was nothing more than a hollow soul, my bones rattled like a dead-beaten cage with the bars all bent and worn. And what I’m trying to say is that the vastness within me could not be described, I would know because I tried, it was all I could write about for years, I had lines beneath my eyes like all the poets, Plath, Bukowski, they were my comrades. And the loneliness was so great that I never saw the sun for months, the fire within me incinerated my every inside to dust. And this was much too drawn out for an introduction, but you’re the only one who deserves this explanation, I want you to understand the gravity of who I was before I tell you who I am, the person I became the moment I set eyes on you. Do you have but a clue of what you are to me? No, I doubt you ever could. What I’m trying to say is that I want to kiss you everywhere it hurts. And who knew, that you’d fall in love with a wildfire, and to think I had spent my whole life trying to extinguish it, when it was everything you wanted. But wanting you doesn’t even begin to cover it, what I mean is that sometimes I feel this swelling within me that would make every ocean recede in admiration, it’s rushing through my fingertips at this very moment with a passionate nature that I never knew existed. And what I’m trying to say is that the day I met you everything changed, I saw the world in all its brilliant colors and all the gray dissipated. And what I’m trying to say is that you healed my splintered bones like glue, you made flowers sprout through my ribcage like a meadow in June, and you sketched stretch marks on every inch of my hollow heart.  Falling in love with you is like coming up for air after a deep sea dive, it’s my heart pounding to its greatest capacity after a marathon and the wind beneath my wings like some sparrow in flight. And ******* I will never begin to scrape the surface of it, but I sure as hell will try, and what I mean by that is that I’ll continue to write to you every day of my life. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to run to you, sometimes I find myself halfway out the door, I never feel more alive than when I take you in my arms after a long drive. And that is what I ache for at this very moment, I can almost feel you against me, my fingers through your hair, and to be honest I couldn’t be more surprised that we don’t have bruises from pulling one another closer, because closer in this world is still lightyears away from the close we want to be. And don’t you feel it, my love? Don’t you feel it every time that we make love? Every time I run my fingertips along your spine I’m writing you a poem in a language no one could have ever dreamed of. And sometimes in the middle of it all I find myself clutching at you, and my apologies if I leave claw marks along your shoulder blades, but when you kiss me I can’t tell whose breath is whose and that’s how I know that somehow we’ve left this place. Because darling, perhaps we were not made for the world and the world was made for us, I know because there are more landscapes in your eyes than I can count and who needs the world when there are galaxies in the wells of your collarbones. And I swear these bodies of ours were constructed for one another’s, I can tell by this endless ache, and when I say I miss you I mean that without you I feel like an animal with a missing limb. So if you hear the wolves howling it’s because I told them about you, and if the moon blinds you it’s because I asked her to remind you of the glow you light within me, and if I sound out of breath it’s because I’ve already ran halfway down the street again, hoping that time and space will collapse in awe of the love I have for you, if only just this once. And you wanted me to write you something, well, my love, I’ll write you a poem:

Your skin against my skin
Tangled breaths
Clasped hands.

And if that isn’t poetry than I don’t know what is, all I know is that I spent my life devouring novels and nothing scrapes the surface of what you are, you are worlds that have yet to be discovered that I wish to spend my whole life writing about. And when I say I’d do anything for you I mean that you are everything in this world to me, you are the blue-gray skies and the winter green pines and more than I have ever dreamed about. And I will describe this love if it kills me, but if you’re ever wondering just look into my eyes and that’s how you’ll know, hurricanes and tsunamis and tornados don’t even know what it’s like to have this ardor. And to make a long story short, I thought the world had ******* up somehow, I thought I was in it alone, but now I know I was made for you, and you for me, and no one else. And I can’t even tell you what it feels like to find the other half to your soul, to find a hand that fits perfectly inside your own. And I know I’m a writer, baby, but I swear that we’re extraordinary, even time stops when we make love and only tears can explain what you are to me. And my whole life I watched the waves in awe, I never believed anything could be so relentless, but I learned that the waves crashing over and over is a lot like falling in love with you, one touch, one glance, one thought and I’m falling again
And again
And again
And again