“Your words wrap around my neck like a noose that was not tied tight enough to hang you up high enough, and I can never seem to put my feelings into sentences that are able to make you see that I am absolutely nothing without you. See, there are a hundred languages and a thousand different ways that I could tell you that your smile, in the morning, looks like breathing. They cluck their tongues in some tribes, they say ‘beautiful’ through hand movements and eyelash flutters, but I can only whisper it, over and over, against the corner of your mouth, like a mantra or a prayer ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ But do you think love itself could become its own language? Could we use sympathy, and stanzas to tell each other that love is able to overcome any obstacle, and that when we are together we are a match, we are striking that we put forest fires to shame? I realize, now, that we do not need a hundred languages, and we might not even need the one, because when I look at you, with my eyes, with my fondness, even for a second I see you new, like it’s the first time I learned how to speak.”