I wrote too many poems in a language I did not yet know how to speak. - Andrea Gibson

And every memory of you is a halt,

a clot where all my blood-rushing veins just stop,

and most days I can’t remember how to bleed.

Baby, I have no idea how this will end. Maybe the equator will fall like a hula hoop from the earth’s hips and our mouths will freeze mid-kiss on our 80th anniversary or maybe tomorrow my absolute insanity combined with the absolute obstacle course of your communication skills will leave us like a love letter in a landfill. But whatever, however, whenever this ends I want you to know that right now, I love you forever.

You are a mystery I promise I will never try to solve.