His love makes me believe that I can do anything. I could reach out and pluck a feathery cloud from the sky, if I wanted to. I could exhale a whispery breath and extinguish the sun. It makes me want to give him the stars, even though they aren’t mine to give. I could crumble mountains and cross oceans, without ever moving.
His love makes me invincible.
His love makes me feel beautiful, like there was no one before me and will never be one after me. Not just an accepting type of beauty, but like I’ve exceeded the standards that I’ve always held myself at. His love makes me feel confident that what is inside of me is far more stunning than anything anyone has to offer on the outside.
His love makes me radiate.
His kisses are like a gifted box full of chocolates when I’ve only just given them up for Lent.
I crave them.
His love is like committing arson,
when I knew there was a drought,
leaving me burning with the desire to be quenched
with more fire.
I find myself doing everything with him I always swore I would not do.
I let walls down that I’ll never have the time, nor the strength, to rebuild.
With him, I am vulnerable.
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.