My Dear

I told you that you have a piece of my heart in your hand,
that is yours,
only yours,
to keep forever.
And you told me that I could still leave someday,
without that piece.
But the truth is,
it isn't just that one piece of my heart that you are holding,
but instead the whole thing.
Your fingerprints
have imprinted the whole surface,
leaving it permanently stained with your taste;
No amount of tears could every wash it away.

I hope you know
that no amount of
could ever corrode
the sanctuary of love we have created
around ourselves
Or the sea of promises we find ourselves
swimming in

Because we are like flowers,
pressed together between the pages
of an old novel;
We are a storybook kind of love,
the kind that never fades.

And I need you to know,
that you can rest your head in my lap,
when the days become too much.
Too heavy.
And on those days,
I will bandage you back together,
sewing our promises back into your skin,
so you never forget.
That I love you when your body is broken
and all you are is a mess of falling stars,
searching to form a constellation.
You, my dear, are a constellation
that I will always
be able to find in the night sky.
And that is how I know I am home;
You are home.

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