mhm.

They don't know about us. They don't hear the words we whisper in the wintry February air. They don't see the veiled kisses we slip in the dark of twilight. They will never feel what we feel, the pull that tugs our hearts from miles apart. Never will they grip the unbending circumstances of our love.

Their snide remarks have grown banal. They judge us like they know you and me, but they don't. Perhaps that is the ground of their hate; what they cannot comprehend, they fear and despise. They are filled with qualm when something they cannot manipulate arises from the ashes of the fire they have set.

But it doesn't matter to me. Not a care in the world belongs to these imbeciles who believe they can give the verdict on our feelings. Maybe you're lying to me, maybe I'm lying lying to myself. That's for us to find out, not anyone else. Let them have their opinions, but keep their poison out of my drink.

You are the song and dance of the butterflies that flutter through my stomach. Your words are candied like the little chocolates I so often crave. And your eyes are a lovely shade of turquoise, so deep I swim in them. Your voice is the trickle of water in my driest of springs. Your arms are the grove of trees that cut through the biting winter wind.

And I love you with every fiber of my being. Every little cell stops its function just to flash you a smile, and how I manage to survive seeing, I will never know. Perhaps it is the love that keeps my heart beating, my body warm, and the air in my lungs. Love is the closest thing we have to magic, isn't it?

You kill me with your beauty, but it is your love that keeps me breathing.