I asked you, ‘Tell me about her.’ And you looked me in the eyes and replied, ‘Well, what do you want to know?’ and that’s the exact moment I knew you didn’t love her, not really. See, if you did you would’ve gone on about how her voice is now your favorite sound. That when she is next to another women their beauty doesn’t even compare to hers. How even when she steals the blankets at 3am you’re just glad she’s warm. That when she touches you, even slightly, it causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. How when you kiss you don’t know whose air your breathing but you know that all you want is to be there in that moment forever. That you can see yourself having three children and a dog in a beautiful house someday soon. How her eyes are pure and truthful and when you look into them all you feel is happiness. That her laugh is what you live for even though it’s loud and obnoxious. How looking at her makes all the bad seem okay. You would’ve gone on a rant about her without hesitation, like the way I do when someone asks me why I still love you.
I know the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started.
Somewhere…somebody is probably fucking my future wife right now She probably thinks that he is the definition of love That he defies gravity That he can beat the fuck out of any dude that disrespects her She probably thinks that he invented the stars That the sun…
I’d cut my soul into a million different pieces just to form a constellation to light your way home. I’d write love poems to the parts of yourself you can’t stand. I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark.