My love.
I don’t like you. I don’t like how you flaunt yourself in the most subtle of ways. I don’t like how your voice is used on only important matters, and never ceases to speak hope in the midst of depression. I love it.
I don’t like your heart, sadly cynical, morally incorrupt, selflessly bursting to share. I don’t like how your spirit reflects your soul, and shines through your skin in the brightest of days and the darkest of nights. I love it.
If you were rid of your graceful charms, I wouldn’t be sad to see them go. I’d be heartbroken.
If you suddenly lost your abundant Faith and fell to the side, I wouldn’t be unhappy. I’d be distraught.
For you, the greatest of kings wouldn’t give a thought. They would give you their kingdoms.
For you, men wouldn’t write stupid poetry. They would believe it.
For you, even God would write a sarcastic letter that lacked its true intent of expression because of the inaccessible features you boldly possess. No form of art I know can describe who you are, or match the incredible blessing of knowing you personally. I only wish I could let you know who you are.
My love.
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