It is easy for anyone to look at this and see it as a weakness. Easy for any man to shoot me down with the words I had written for him. Although, I still believe enough to write, enough to express myself in a way I see fit. My words are transcending in the sense you still hear them before you lay to sleep. They are soft like wool, wrapping you for comfort when you are scared. I have spent years gathering every detail that you have offered me. I’ve written sentences upon essays that lead into stories, just to describe the intricate detailing of your face.
No man has gotten more affection and adornment from me then you: a man that does not even want nor knows it there. All the love I have sent your way sit dormant next to you, like a naval ship chained to a port awaiting its orders.
You are to me, love, be it a burden or a gift I am happy with either.
