I’m running out of things to say.

I want to write you a poem every time I think about you,

But there’s not enough ink in the world,

Not enough storage on the entire internet,

Not enough words in my language to describe you. 

I want to tell you how much I love you,

How every single hair on your head means something to me.

How the way your mouth curls,

Or the way your teeth look behind your lips when you’re looking at me.

How it breaks me into a kaleidoscope of colours on the inside.

How the way you smell teleports me to somewhere else entirely,

Or the way you talk about things you’re passionate about makes me feel a fire within you I have never seen in anyone else.

How your eyes glow in the side light from your bedside lamp,

Or how the little face you pull when I say something stupid makes me feel a lot less stupid and a lot more appreciated.

So when I say that;

“I love you” 

Don’t think of it as some mundane stereotypical casual comment people who are tired of each other make over the phone during lunch over a 15 minute conversation on how to cook plain chicken. 

Think of it as every poem,

Every word,

Every star in the sky and every cloud curtain shelter. 

Every time I look at you and you can feel my soul staring at you.

Because that’s what I mean.

I already know how to cook chicken,

And I know just salt and pepper won’t cut it.