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I love you for what your love is turning me into. Being away from you and coming to this house has never been easy for me. It’s only been few hours since you’ve released me from your warm embrace, and you know what —I’m feeling sick, homesick. I couldn’t ever know how everything falls in place when you’re around. How everything gets perfectly okay when you’re around. I couldn’t ever know why no harm gets to touch me when you’re around.
And now when you’re there lying in your bed and I lying in mine, this hollowness fills my belly, clutching my muscles and I feel suffocated up the gut. And what worse, this shallowness suffocates me to the extent that I choke on the lump which forms at the end of my throat. I sit back once in a while to think about it, the difference between being around you and not. There’re always few dozens of absolutely new things which get added to the list. I am too naïve to understand the prints you’ve left on my skin and on my mind and onto my soul. The way your serene touch breezes over every inch of mine and fills me from within, takes me back to the moments of us snuggled, your chaste kisses on my forehead and the soothing way you cup my face, caressing my temple. I miss that every moment I lived with you.
Wait of the next time I would snuffle into your hair, is what keeps me smiling and the wait of the moment when your exhale will fill my lungs, keeps me alive.

Yours M

It was then, having written a substantial amount of literature about her eyes, it came to me that I was missing into something important, a crucial detail maybe. While my poems only rhymed through the beguiling galaxies dwelling in her eyeballs, my ink could not sense the calamities they were about to bring for her eyes were insidious. When I only wrote about the way they heal me, I forgot to mention the details of the catastrophe they bring.

Oh man, oh dear admirer of art, wandering art galleries from Chelsea to the Louvre. I tell you —when she doesn’t have even slightest idea of her being stared, her beauty being enamoured, her gaze being adored, it’s then when there is absolutely no escape from her alluring radiance compelling those who call themselves dilettantes.

Today, before I separated my eyelids, I realised that she was awake, already. I could tell this by the whiff of her breath spread over my face, warm and seductive. With a moan escaping my lips, I watched her from the corner of my eyes and for my surprise she was smiling, half asleep in my arms. I saw her staring at me like I stare at her and yes it was beautiful, to be stared. Within my arms she adjusterd herself as her lips softly brushed my forehead. Oh maybe this is how she kissed me good morning. I loved this kiss.
I perfectly know that I won’t ever be able to define what this morning was for me. But I can not resist to write that when I woke up to the gorgeous mess of our spilled bodies, our limbs entangled, our faces adjacent and her palm caressing my drowsy skin , in that warm moment, I swear I felt everything I used to write about ecstasy. On her lips, this morning, I tasted our love, I tasted our forever.

And she smiles, regardless of the battles in her mind, she smiles. She smiles with her perfectly chiseled lips in a way which heals me in infinite ways. But at times she decides to laugh, selflessly. And there she is, sitting with the unruly wind chime whiffing through her hair, rendering her eyes almost closed with immense joy of our togetherness. There she is, completely unaware of the beauty she radiates off her eyes, which could set the whole sky on fire, casting a spell on me. There she is, not having a slightest of the idea of the turbulent storms her carefree smile brings inside me. There she is, utterly unaffected by what life has done to her, laughing it off. There she is, having a dazzling gaze and a fragrance of pale yellow pages of literature.
And there she is, the last unrhymed line of a hopeless romantic song.