I’m having a hard time thinking up a list of words to describe how I felt. I could throw words around and I could smash together every vowel and every consonant and all I would get is a mediocre word, not worth describing what we are. I can make you think I know what I’m talking about. That I’m some eloquently worded individual, stringing words together at the snap of a finger. But I’m not. I’ll never be. But are you? What are we? You’d have to tell me because I have no idea.

Maybe it’s meant to be this way. That I’m here and you’re there and we’re everywhere except the same place. But it’s no accident I met you. I’d buy you the moon with every dollar I don’t have. I’d sell every mile from you to me and I’d use the money to buy you every single star that we could see. But even that wouldn’t be enough. Nothing ever seems to be enough.

I’m sorry, I love you.

I’m sorry I love you.

I want to tell you every day. Every minute of every hour. Not to be a burden, not to remind you because you forget sometimes, or trouble you, or bother you when you don’t want to hear it. Simply because I want you to know above everything else that I’m always going to be here. You’ll always be able to find me. I want you to know from every single mile it takes to see you again. I want you to know from every little piece of you that I’m always going to be part of this. Whatever this may be. I don’t care what this is, I don’t care where we are or how stupid we both are for thinking this could work. 

129 has nothing on us.