my owner
there are honestly days where i think of you without even trying. that sounds dumb but bear with me. there are days, and then there are others, when your presence hums so constantly inside of my chest that i honestly forget it was ever quiet. but you dont take up my mind in a way that makes me feel less like myself.
you occupy my thoughts the same way sunlight buries itself in a flowers stem. not loudly, not even intentionally, but fully. there's not a single place where that sunlight doesnt reach. there's no place in me you can't reach. there are some parts of me that i didn't even know could open. you've been that for me. you might be it for me.
i wouldnt call this love in the way people usually mean it. love feels too tame of a word. too definitive for something that doesn't need to be enclosed, that people are worthy of being privy to. ive always had such a hard time expressing even the most basic feelings. you make me want to try.
if i could, i'd empty my body for you, i'd carve my ribs to be thinner, to house you better, softer. i'd dull my edges if only to be softer for you, sweeter. you've changed the texture if how i feel things, of how i see them. i notice things about you now. the tone of your voice, the space between your words, the warmth in things you leave unsaid. i wonder how i could have possibly lived without this, without being so attuned to you and your being. its no wonder the world can't quite seem to contain you.
in a way, my heart moves differently now. theres a shift, its quiet, unmistakeable, its how i carry the world since you became part of my music, you're like the way light arrives in the morning. gradually, gently, insistently until no one quite remembers how the room looked prior to your presence. i'm surprised im not freaking out.
i tend to do that. but no. there's a calmness to this. its weird, given how much space you occupy in me. its not frantic, its not hurtful, it doesn't beg for attention. you live in my head like music does. uninvited, but welcomed none the less. impossible to forget or replicate, and not quite mine to control.
i don’t know what this makes me. i don’t know what it makes us, or if there’s even a word for it that wouldn’t flatten the feeling. i only know that when I imagine the future, any future honestly, it carries your tone. not always your face, not always your voice, but something unmistakably you at the center.