I Don’t Write Love Poems

I’ll be honest—I don’t write love poems. But if I did, I know what I would write about. I know what kind of love I want.

You see, I want that love where I wake up early every morning to make her breakfast. I want that love where I would fall apart just hearing her say my name.

I want that love that is reckless, scary, and dangerous to my health if I don’t do it right. Yet somehow makes me feel invincible. I want that love that reminds me of jumping off my bunk bed as a child, thinking that I was Spider-Man. A childish love, sure, one that is without limits.

I want that kind of love where she is there to catch me as I trip over the odd combination of self-doubt and ego that I always seem to leave everywhere.

I want that love where we smile so bright whenever we’re together that they can see that shit on Google Maps.

Love poems aren’t my thing. But if I am still being honest, if I did write one, it would be about you.

If I was to write about my love for you, I would say how it made me feel thankful that cupid finally got his technique down when I first saw your smile.

If I wrote you a love poem, it would mention how the only way I stay sane is loving you with complete and utter lunacy.

If I wrote you a love poem, I would try to make it into a song. With your heartbeat as the bass and my words as the lyrics. We would make some pretty sweet music together. Our mixtape would be fire.

Again, I am not saying that I write love poems. But if I decided to write one someday, it would make the most sense to write about you.

And when I do write this hypothetical love poem, I would say that holding you is a feeling that is only comparable to a sunrise on a perfect morning.

Warm. Fulfilling. Necessary to my existence.

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