My words will always hold this cliché nature but I hope your ears will never get weary of welcoming them. Love, my love, the moment you held my hands was enough to spark a collision; I’ve always adored this little gesture of our fingers interlocked. You proved me that there’s still beauty amidst this wreckage. I swear, my heart saw a series of fireworks raging in the middle of that fateful and calm night. And I was left wondering if it was the same for you too. I found security inside your embrace. I found home in you. I don’t want to go and leave to meet someone new. I don’t want to go on the process of getting to know someone all over again. I want it to be you. It’s your hands I desire to hold until the end. Because, love, your touch is the garden where I planted my favorite tulips. Your words are the lingering scent of my brewed coffee every sunrise. Your eyes are the pathways to my safe haven. You are home.
— Excerpt from a book about you I’ll never write