One day it just clicked; why i would want to hold your hand and feel the warmth spread from the tips of my fingers, up my arm, and through to the veins pulsing towards my heart. why suddenly every story became a new world, a brimming, and shiny cathedral of memoirs, of who you used to be – of what i missed out on the first time. why suddenly your hair could have looked so ridiculous, like it could stand up from lightning, but make the rhythm of my heart thunder. if i could pick you as my muse i’d fall in love with you every time. i’d want to sculpt you up from marble, etch your face, and know it’s worth to do it every time. i wish to know your skin and bones, not to become one together but to say i knew you. how i wish to know you and know you and know you. i want to become apart of your story, not the message itself. i want to be able to relax and watch over the moon pass over the sky with you, but then stay up alone counting the stars that appear while you sleep. i want both the tranquility of love but also the demands that follow. there is so much of you that you can’t share with me in this one lifetime, but my love for you wills me to seek more of you every day; i choose you every day.