you are art, you are perfection.

your words slip out with an easy laugh and they resonate, basking in the soundless presence that i have brought with me.

i have never been one to speak out loud but you draw the slanted lines out of me, poetry and previously unfound letters just waiting to be spoken. your laugh has an iron vice on that beating heart of mine, gripping it with an intensity i didn't know existed. i feel a tug within me that i didn't know existed, unravelling my very existence as you speak.

what is this, your voice of melted honey that radiates the warmth that i so desperately need? it travels over me in waves, a ghost of the touch i'll never feel.

the air was knocked out of my lungs the moment i first heard it.

crying, screaming, i cannot pick which one to do. you make me feel everything with a few words when others are tracing the fresh scars on my soul for me to look at them. i think the reason why is simple: i have already given up my soul to you.

i write of little girls and their fragile little hearts that break into a million pieces when the right person steps into their sight. you haven't stepped into mine, but i think my mind is already spinning from the mere thought of you.

jokingly, we tease as the sun is still high and the rest of the world has fallen into slumber. you and me, yet silence is comfort, when it's with you.

I don't know what I'm feeling right now. It's . . . different.