Feb 18, 2017
With you, it is never about the small things, I guess. You were never just a star out of reach or the centre of a galaxy, an unsteady wave or an outstanding painting; you are the universe itself, the seven seas and a whole museum of art. I would never compare you to a single ray of sunshine; you are the glorious rising, the scenery drowning in gold, broken glass setting fire to the grass. But then again, a single tip of your fingers on my skin is able to evoke a record-breaking earthquake and a grin that does not even last a quarter of a second could burn a hole into my veins. And the most attractive thing about you is the way your chest is heaving when you’re breathing, a sure sign that you are alive.