Your hair is long and beautiful.
In all its darkness second to none and just a pinch of pure gold, seasoned perfectly to taste.
If it is not that then it is easily the ballerina of your finger dancing graciously around each strand in perfect harmony with the vibrations of the universe but only you and I know that you do this when you are deep in thought.
And I know to watch silently as a masterpiece is being created.
I look up at your eyes and I am quickly reminded of our first date, but I often remember it wrong, so maybe you can help me.
Sometimes I see a luscious field of green and the fresh soil through which our romance bloomed and in others, I see the universe, stars, and galaxies locked behind them of which mankind has yet to discover.
So etch my name in history once more for being the first man to float peacefully among your stratosphere.
In my enamor, I greatly appreciate your existence and for everything we have said and done to bring us to this exact moment.
At this moment, in your eyes and the poise of your hair, I am reminded of the stories we have yet to tell, and here’s to hoping that you will always be there to tell them with me.
Because you always had this enthusiasm for well-told stories and it would not be the same any other way.
Here's to having not written in a while. And here's to the stranger who does not know it yet.
