I’m not good with words. I get nervous. I stutter. I shake. I crumble in your presence. I open my mouth to speak to you, but my words break like soft shale. What I really meant to say in my silence, is that I want you. I want you next to me in the morning when I’m cold, so you can wrap your warm arms around me like my favorite blanket. I want to feel your lips on my neck and your fingers through my hair, as the sun shines on us like a rose blooming, except it’s one that never dies. I want to fall off your stem into a pond of lilly pads and love. I want you like rain on my windowsill, when I’m in bed, sick and needing comfort. I need you like a slow sunrise on the morning of our wedding day, and I need you to tell me you need me too as my knees become weak when you slide a ring on to my finger. I need you like a cool, sandy breeze in the Sahara desert. You, a mirage, so clear and pure. I want you like a glass of water when I’m dehydrated and lost in your sandstorm. I need you like your soul needs to be felt, as I look into your eyes and feel your pain embed itself onto my shoulders. I wanted to tell you that I think I love you, not because you’re perfect, but because you’re not. Because you’re you. I crave your rawness, your truths, your love in return. I wanted to tell you I’d travel miles by foot just to see your blue eyes shine under City lights. I should’ve told you there’s no other place I’d rather be than in your arms in a hotel suite looking over the world. I revolve around you, like the moon chases the sun. Like the moon craves the sun’s light. I want to cast a passionate shadow on your bed sheets in a room filled with lust and secrets. I want to feel your anger like a burning sun who is too scared to tell the moon she fell deep in his orbit. What I really meant to say is, I love you.
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