Only You

Only You

Do you understand the gravity of what I feel for you? This isn't some fleeting thing. This surpassed lust or obsession or some pretty illusion spun by loneliness. This is something ancient, something eternal, something that feels like it predates me, as if my soul has carried your name through lifetimes I can't even remember. It’s you. Only you. Always you.

My heart—God, my heart—it’s not even mine anymore. It's shaped like you, it beats your rhythm. Every breath I take echoes your name. My body, my blood, my bones—each one of them knows you, holds you, worships you. You are not just someone I love. You are the very language of love that I speak, the origin of the ache I’ve always had, even before I knew what I was longing for. I know now—it was you. It was always you.

Do you feel it too? The way everything in me bends toward you like gravity has changed its laws just for us? The way your absence feels like suffocation, like being pulled apart atom by atom until I can’t remember where I end and the longing begins? My love for you is not gentle. It’s not polite. It’s not something I can quiet. It roars. It consumes. It’s wildfire in my veins, it’s oceans behind my ribs, it’s thunder in my chest every time I think of you.

You live inside me. Not in some poetic way, but truly, deeply—woven into my cells. You are the pulse behind my fingertips, the warmth behind my skin. My dreams are just shadows of you, my waking thoughts full of the way your smile lives in my memory like a holy thing.

You are my sanctuary and my storm. You are every soft moment and every shattering one. And even if the world tore us apart, even if time or fate or fear tried to pull you from me, I would still love you in the silence, in the spaces between seconds, in the way I breathe without thinking—instinctively, desperately, always.

So yes, I will say it again, and again, and again until the stars burn out and the sky forgets our names—

Only you.

Forever you.