In a way, you are poetry material; you are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality.
I missea you.
…as long as you’re with me.
“Making love was never about you and me in a bed. We made love whenever we held hands.”
– Iain Thomas, „I Wrote This For You”