The moon. I have always been drawn to it. Connected, in some inexplicable way. A silent kinship. There’s the moon, asking to stay. All my life, I’ve regarded it with a solemn reverence. For the tempestuous storm it brews. The ebb and flow. Love, lust, and longing. Sorrow and anguish. Strength and hope. Brazen resilience. An image of change. Of life itself. Birth and death and rebirth. Continuous incontinence. Everything amounts to this enormous beauty I know I will never fully be able to grasp. In all this, the moon reflects the heart of life. The kaleidoscope flux of the soul. The moon. It’s a cause for introspection. A mirror of who I have been, and a promise of who I can become.
I changed when you came into my life. Time and experience had left me rough around the edges. I learned to get on, without needing anything or anyone else. I never wanted to be different or try and be better for any other person. But then you happened. You showed me what it was to love. How beautiful it could be to share something like that with another person. And then I want to be better for you. I want to bloom for you. I want to hear you say you love me a year, two years, five years, a decade, five decades down the road. I want to grow old with you. I want to be yours only. I’m so proud of the man you are. I hope I make you proud too. I love you.
I changed when you came into my life. Time and experience had left me rough around the edges. I learned to get on, without needing anything or anyone else. I never wanted to be different or try and be better for any other person. But then you happened. You showed me what it was to love. How beautiful it could be to share something like that with another person. And then I want to be better for you. I want to bloom for you. I want to hear you say you love me a year, two years, five years, a decade, five decades down the road. I want to grow old with you. I want to be yours only. I’m so proud of the man you are. I hope I make you proud too. I love you.
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