i am hers
i could be nothing better
she tastes like something i can’t quite name, something just at the edge of memory—like honey dissolving into tea, like the first bite of something too sweet but impossible to resist. she kisses me, and i swear i can feel sugar seeping into my bloodstream, turning me soft, turning me golden. i wonder if she knows—if she realizes the way she undoes me, how i come apart at the seams just to make space for her.
she leaves traces of herself everywhere—on my skin, in my thoughts, in the spaces between my ribs. i wake up to the ghost of her fingerprints on my arm, her warmth lingering like the last note of a song. i breathe her in, and the world is suddenly made of her—like i could tilt my head back and taste her name in the air. some nights, i think i dream in the color of her voice.
she tells me to stop looking at her like that, but how could i not? she is a quiet storm, a summer night heavy with something electric. she smiles, and the tide shifts in my chest. i want to map every version of her—the girl she was before me, the one she is now, the one she will become. i want to know her the way the ocean knows the shore, endlessly, without hesitation.
"you act like i’m something divine," she says, half-laughing, shaking her head.
“you are," i say, but she doesn’t believe me.
she calls me ridiculous when i say i could die happy just watching her exist. i tell her she doesn’t understand—watching her is like watching fire. beautiful. dangerous. my hands ache to reach out, even knowing i might burn. and i would burn, gladly.
she tilts her head and studies me like she’s searching for something, like i am a mystery she’s only halfway through solving.
"you’re mine," she says, and it doesn’t feel like ownership. it feels like safety. like truth. like something that has always been and always will be.
i have never belonged to anything the way i belong to her. i could be nothing better.
she traces circles on my wrist with the pad of her thumb, absentminded, like she’s writing something only my bones will understand. i wonder if they do—if deep inside me, my marrow already knows her name, if my blood runs warmer because she is near.
she doesn’t realize what she does to me. the way her presence rewires the world, turns every sharp edge soft, makes the unbearable feel like something i can hold without cutting myself open. she is not a cure, not salvation—she is something truer than that. she is the quiet promise that i am not lost.
and i—i am hers.
i could be nothing better.
it’s not about possession. it’s not about being claimed like something small and breakable. it’s about the way she says my name like it belongs to her mouth. about the way she tucks herself into me, like i am something worth resting in. it’s the way she looks at me—like i am not a fleeting thing, not something the wind will take.
she asks me why i smile when she holds my hand, why i shake my head when she tells me she loves me as if she’s saying something ordinary.
"i don’t think you understand," i tell her.
she frowns, waiting.
"i don’t think you understand what it means to be loved by you."
she laughs, soft, like i’m being ridiculous again. like she isn’t the sun tilting the whole world on its axis. like her love isn’t something holy, something i would carve into the sky if i could.
but she doesn’t need to understand. it is enough that she is here. that she is mine. that i am hers.
and i—i could be nothing better.
she has pressed herself into me so deeply that i do not know where i end and she begins. i wake up tasting her name, my throat raw with it, my body aching like i have been emptied out and refilled with something unbearable and sweet.
somewhere in me, there must still be a self untouched by her, but i do not care to find it.
there is no version of me that does not belong to her. no self i could construct that is not shaped by the way she has touched me, carved me out of my own ruin. to love her is not to hold something delicate in my hands—it is to be unmade, to let her unravel me thread by thread, to let her wear my skin like it was always meant for her.
she sees me, and i am gutted by it.
she sees me, and i am whole.
there is no safety in this love, no gentle harbor. it is a fire i have thrown myself into willingly, a hunger that cannot be named without trembling. i do not love her in the way that is soft or careful. i love her like a wound that refuses to heal, like a scar i run my fingers over again and again just to remember the pain.
she does not flinch from me.
she does not turn away when i am ugly with wanting, when i am jagged and cruel, when i am shaking with the unbearable weight of needing her. she only holds me tighter, her fingers digging into my ribs like she is afraid i might slip through them. she only whispers, “i know. i know.”
i wonder if she understands the enormity of it.
that i would rip myself open just to prove she is inside me. that i would tear the world apart if it ever tried to take her from me. that i have never believed in anything the way i believe in the sound of her breath beside me, in the way she says my name like it is the only thing she has ever known.
she is in my blood now, written into my bones, curled between my ribs like something sacred.
she is the softness i never deserved.
she is the hunger i will never satisfy
i am hers.
i could be nothing better.
Imagine being told that it’s corny and stupid to write love letters and someone’s boyfriend on the other side of the world is creating masterpieces like this😭bravo
im so jealous of whoever this is