i. You are beautiful. You are so lovely in your own conventional way that everyone else is just a fleck of grey compared to your green eyes and smattering of freckles. You are wildflowers in june, the eye of a hurricane, city lights at midnight, sunlight through big windows with white curtains dancing in the breeze, the vibrant hues of every sunset and sunrise- the crimson reds, golds, violets, and blush pinks. There is nothing manufactured, nothing plastic about your eyes formed from the stars and the marks of the earth and sun sprayed across your cheeks and nose.

ii. I will never leave you. I know the last time you let someone into your heart they fumbled and let it break, but please know that I won't. I know sometimes I am blind and weak but I will gladly spend forever making up my mistakes to you. I have always loved you and I always will.

iii. I love you. Not the kind of traditional, puppy-eyed love, but the kind that breaks down walls and can be heard from miles away. The kind that Romeo and Juliet died for, the kind that our grandparents lived for. I love you the same way the ocean loves the shoreline, and no matter how many times I am drawn away, I will always find my way back to you.

I came home smelling like rain and cigarette smoke and teenage love and my mother grabbed me and said "you better not fall in love" and so I smiled and touched your number that you had slipped in my pocket earlier that day when you said that you were 32 degrees Fahrenheit and I was the sun and I could melt you with my fingertips.

I came home smelling like a hurricane and tequila and lemonade and the lavender flower you tucked behind my ear the night before and the way your shirt hung off of me, lopsided, almost like we were. My mother said to me "you better not fall in love" and I twirled the cheap necklace between my fingers and I smiled to myself, the clasp was broken but I could still feel your cold fingers as you tickled my neck when you first put it on me.

I came home smelling like thunderstorms and fire and breakup songs and rose thorns and cheap vodka that would make me throw up blood and smudged makeup. And the girl you chose had laughed and said ti would always be her and never me. And my mother just looked at me with pity.

For four months I smelled like overcast drizzles and fog and cheap takeout pizza and dirty clothes and tear stains on pillows and broken songs about love. I hadn't left the house since you left. And my mother stayed outside my room to make sure I stayed alive through the night while I cried myself to sleep.

Three weeks later I met a boy who wasn't so cold and gave me some inner peace and offered me his shirt so I could sleep in and hold tight and smell his scent lingering on it when I missed him. And I came home smelling like fresh rain after a long drought and clean laundry and happy music and laughter. But I told myself I better not dare fall in love.

But I did anyways.

For nine months I came home smelling like a sense of security and everything safe and good and happy and hopeful. This boy stuck by my side and gave me the world and the stardust in his beautiful brown eyes melted my heart and his laugh was music to my ears. Some days I still come home smelling of gloomy weather and dragging feet and downcast stares avoiding the world. And my mother reminds me I fell in love and I smile because I fell hard and broke all my bones and he was there to pick them up for me.

And one day he came home smelling like pot and bourbon and nothing good and he told me he no longer loved me. And my mother looked on as I asked him to take his hoodies and love notes and good morning texts and all the memories we had made.

For one week I smelled like downpours and broken music and unkempt hair and shattered hopes and torn up love letters. It hit me then, what my mother had been warning me, that she had left out the last part of her cautionary advice. "Don't you fall in love... with anybody but yourself."

Now I smell of messy art and soft music and burning candles and forgotten hurts.

And I'd chose you;

In a hundred lifetimes,

In a hundred worlds,

In any version of reality,

I'd find you and

I'd chose you.

Over and over and over again;

Without pause,

Without doubt,

In a heartbeat,

I'll keep choosing you.

i remember 3 months ago, you didn't know my name and i didn't know your love. all it took was one message. now i know that your hand fits perfectly with mine, and that your laugh is my favorite sound, and the feeling i get when you pull away from a kiss and you look into my eyes is less like butterflies and more like releasing the whole damn zoo, and somehow that is comforting. i know that people say disney land is the happiest place in the world, but they clearly have never been in your arms, and no matter how far you are from me i know that somewhere between the sand and the stardust there is an echo of you and i. and i know that maybe one day, when i roll over at three am, it will be your perfect face i see instead of a text.

Don't you see how beautiful you are?

You are the sunrise in the morning with its pastel colors.

You are the birds flying above full of purpose and worth.

You are a lovely flower growing and growing every day.

You are the sky awakening with light.

You are a stem of grass with dew hanging off, sparkling in the early sun.

You are the sun rising in the cloudless sky ready to give hope to a new day.

And you are the sunset at night with its radiant rays because you are still beautiful at the end of the day.

I hope you know that you deserve it all. The best, most honest, most beautiful, purest love in the world. Not only to be loved by others, but to be loved by yourself. To look in the mirror and think "yes, I'm exactly who I want to be." To speak up and be proud of yourself. To be brave and open. You deserve the nicest and most caring people to walk into your life. You deserve it all, you know. The whole world. And you are a galactic being, don't you settle for the space between the stars. You deserve nothing less than perfect. Don't you forget it. 

and one morning,

i was looking at the picture of us on his birthday,

his smile radiating,

and i thanked the universe that it didn't work out with anyone else.

because i know heartbreak and loss and love and pain and healing,

but most importantly, i know you. 

so here i am, at 1am,

writing a love story, a life story,

but you don't deserve a paragraph.

you deserve a thousand books written

about you, your perfect imperfections, your smile, your eyes,

and how much i love you.

thinking about you has become my favorite waste of time.

everything about him was surreal. from his ocean foam eyes to his curly mess of hair to the freckles dancing on his cheeks. the way he laughed, and smiled, and spoke, and hummed along to his favorite songs when they came on the radio. the way he would pause for a minute, look at you, then rush over and kiss you like you were his oxygen. the way he would squeeze you tight and make you feel safe. the first time he held your hand and every time after. the way he would care for you and remind you that you are his princess and treat you like one, even when you tell him he doesn't have to because you are happy just spending time with him. and fuck, he was perfect. but not the kind of perfect that you lusted over. it was the kind that made waking up in the morning worth it; the kind that was brighter than the stars would ever be; the kind that could spark a flame in your life that would make all the dark nights warm. he was the kind of perfect that made you fall in love and never let go.

I was about to compare him to the sun, but I don't want to give credit where it's not due. He's a million times brighter than the sun. My mother always told me not to look directly at anything too bright, but I still can't take my eyes off of him. 

I want to compare his laugh to the chorus of my favorite song, you know, the part where you start the whole song over just to hear that one line again and again but I could never get tired of his laugh ringing in my ears the way some of my favorite songs give me headaches.

I almost compared the way he makes me feel to a warm shower on a cold day when your cheeks are red and you can't feel your fingers and your heart is frozen until the water hits you, but it's so much more than that. My heart is always warm when he's around. 

He's something, one of a kind, once in a lifetime, and nothing compares.

One day, he's going to know you. He'll know your birthday, your middle name, your star sign, and your parents names. He'll know how old you were when you learned to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you've had, and how much you hated going to school. He'll know your eye color, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and birthmarks. He'll know your favorite movie, candy book, pair of shoes, song, and color. He's going to know why you're awake at 3am most nights, where you were when you realized you lost a good friend, why you picked up the razor blade and how you managed to put it down before things went too far. He's going to know your phobias, your dreams, your insecurities, your wishes, and your worries. He's going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. He'll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. He's going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. He'll know your ad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it's his favorite song. The way you talk, chew, drink, sleep, fidget, and kiss. He's going to know you already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for bathroom floors, bridesmaid dresses, and the color of your bedroom walls in your first house together. He's going to get annoyed and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order Starbucks, have to organize your DVD's and CD's alphabetically, and check both of your horoscopes. He'll know your McDonald's order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. He's going to know how you feel without you telling him, and that you're crying before you shed a tear. He's going to know all of it. Everything. You from the top to bottom and inside out. From learning, watching, listening, and sharing. He's going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? He's still going to love you.