A love letter to you,
You, you, the wonderful you.
You, who my thoughts are consumed,
As if nothing else were to exist.
Looking at you—a door,
A gateway—to depths no other.
Losing myself,
Through you—no danger.
For what is danger,
Myself invited?
As long as it’s you,
Us—yours.
And yet,
It almost feels like a dream.
Where I wish,
That I’d never fallen asleep in the first place.
That feeling—of incomplete completeness,
Because I know—that you won’t feel the same.
And yet I still feel,
Like nothing could matter less.
So what could I be,
If not yours.
Yours—like a summers’ day,
That breeze—21 degrees—your favourite.
Like a winter’s eve,
In blankets—swaddled together—warm.
Akin to late nights—drinking,
Tipsy—that feeling of mellowness—with you.
But nothing—to the kiss from your lips,
Nothing—comparable.
So when I’m asked,
Even if not official.
What could I be,
If not yours?