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i don’t like saying ‘i love you’ because my heart catches in my throat every time,
the truth can be written with greater ease:
i love you so much it hurts.
and i know you so well, all of you
yet your favorite color still surprises me
i cannot think of who you’d get along with, or what you’d like
because you’re mine, even if i know, i know it’s just a little part.
i think the beauty and fear of knowing someone comes from the vastness.
because you are an endless impossibility,
a miracle.
shall i compare thee to a summer’s day?
or a winter’s night?
or the first taste of spun sugar, melting on the tongue?
shall i compare thee to a sunrise, all dusky blues and cadmium hopes?
shall i compare thee to the calm before the storm,
the silence that descends at the first pluck of a string;
reverent?
you are more than all of it, of course, and maybe one day,
when it feels a little less raw,
when a brush against my skin doesn't send ice skittering through my lungs,
maybe in a week or two,
i can show this to you,
all rapt nervousness and unmet gaze
even in the surety of reciprocity.
and maybe i would say, ‘i’m sorry’,
and you would understand that if i felt it any less
then i swear i would tell you so.