Light was born when all the matter of infinity was housed within a space so small that space-time could not contain its energetic expression. A sudden, eruptive force extended the arms of light outward into the endless night, and with it, the foundations of existence were laid such that I can be here now, writing to you, an act that contains a power greater than that energetic eruption.
You are all the tiny moments of life brought to the forefront, the minutiae of being shown for the perfection that it is. Life is not made up of grand statements and flashes of brilliance, but instead trillions of subatomic exchanges that show the grandiosity of those flashes to be nothing more than spurious attempts at matching what value may be derived from the mundane. No single event supersedes the feeling I have lying next to you, knowing that when I wake up tomorrow, you will be there.
I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that the majority of art produced by the human race has been directed towards the feeling that I have thus far failed to adequately describe, and likely will continue to fail to approximate. I love you in the way that all of us humans know—that energetic eruption when I see your smile, the beauty of those cool green eyes that look at me with the very same love that I project onto them. You are handsome beyond any reasonable measure, containing a beauty unmatched by any other man as far as my eyes are concerned. When I see your lips tremble in the cold wintry air, I wonder if they might be warmed against mine. Those enchanting lips of yours, I want them in my life until I’ve breathed my last, and the universe can no longer maintain heat in its infinite expansion.
Yet the heat and that expansion seem so inextricably linked—the expression of energy, contained in a singular point that forced all of reality to push itself to the boundaries of the infinite. This force would ultimately prevent that heat from reaching all corners of reality, bringing our love to a bitter end.
But the flash of the beginning and the whimper of the end are nothing compared to the many little pieces of time that connect those beautiful green eyes to mine. The universe may end, and perhaps another begin in some enormous contraction at the point in which reality cannot be stretched any further, but none of that compares to the feeling of lying next to you right here, right now.
I love you, and the words I’ve reached for are nothing but a cheap approximation of that feeling. I am not smart enough, not creative enough, not old enough to know the words. Maybe the words don’t and can’t exist to describe your eyes. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? It doesn’t matter if I can find the words, because all of you reading this know the feeling I’m trying to describe. We all have known the captivating embrace of passion in one way or another, and in that sense, we are all human.
You, my love, are the most beautiful, handsome, charming, pretty, and perfect of all. I have spent the years we’ve been together attempting to express the depth of my affections for you, and my only hope is that these simulacra of my feelings signal to you something similar that we might transcend the limitations of my language and understand more fully how I feel for you.
I love you.