The last thing that I must warn you of is of how I love. I love so hard. I will lace your fingers between my own, and sing you into a love song. I will whisper your name to the moon so that when it dies each night, the sun will rise each morning with the taste of your name on its lips. I will waltz into your heart when you aren’t paying any attention, and suddenly you will realize that it is too late to put it under lock and key because it is already mine alone. I will catch fireflies in my palm and sing them a lullaby so sweet that the next night they will form a picture in the sky as bright as your eyes. I will rip the pieces of you out of my smile and lay them side by side so we can gaze at their beauty. The wind will know what your skin feels like as well as I do, and the space between our lips will be less than the space between our bodies when your arms are around me. Nothing will be safer to me than the sound of your voice, and it will fill my ears like the sound of my favorite sing. Your name will be like an orchestra playing Moonlight Sonata for the fifth time, where it gets sweeter each time I hear it. I will be the author of your fondest memories, and you will never want me to stop writing.
Everything I am, everything you are;
me, the sunless wanderer.
p.s. write me in someday.