You are the only person I can write over thirty poems for, the muse no matter what time of night. After every conversation, I flee to my paper and pen because I don't know

(what else to do with you).

I'm trying to do what's right. I'm trying to stay away. But my heart's too wild for those kind of intentions...

I feel like I'm losing control, whenever these thoughts turn to you.

I've learned so much, already, in loving you.

As often as I deny it, vulnerability can be a gift. It's something that another person remembers... it can make you stronger.

That poem that illustrates my heart and that I conveniently lose and cannot pen again...

God loves us even when we don't love ourselves.

Your soul can love
another.
Time and time again
you will love....

Because honestly - I can't take the silence of you, when you hold white lilies and hymnals to your chest, and all I wish to do is sing into you.

If honesty kills, then I'll risk dying.