I know it’s real when I overthink about you in every fucking single moment
I know it’s real when you cross my mind way more than you should
I know it’s real when I can’t stop putting your name in every song I hear
And when the only thing that can heal my broken heart is your voice
I love the twinkle in your eyes, your pure smile, your lips, your soft hands your touch, your smell your baby skin the mole on your cheek I fucking adore every single inch of you
Baby you’re my favorite blessing.
Darling, my hands have held many things. Every single one has left it’s own mark. Even now, spotted with the ink that commits these words to immortality. Sticky with the sap of trees climbed branch over branch all for the breathless glory of beholding the forest. Salty with the sweat of a hard day’s work, wiped from brow, or knuckles ethereal with the silver silhouettes of heated meetings with barred teeth and altogether foolish decisions. Warm, wrapped around the porcelain contours of cups cradling coffee, the lifeblood of my day. Wet with the clandestine encounters of a night spent in the city’s alleys and alcoves, hidden well out of sight.
These hands have created and destroyed. Caressed and struck. Broken and healed and my love, it’s all written upon my skin. You see darling, my hands have held many things, but nothing yet so wonderful as yours.