It's in the way he speaks,

The way those four letters say everything

Not "You look fine" as in

"Stop adjusting your hair we have to leave let's go already you look fine"

But good. Good, as in "You look good. (I love you)."

The way he never calls me broken, though I've used the word myself.

Because I've always known that broken things can be loved,

Just like I loved that cat puppet with two strings missing, all the way into my closet behind forgotten prom dresses.

But I'm not a puppet in the back of his closet, I'm a girl, alive and in his arms, safe. "(I love you)."

It's the way he wraps his hand around mine, even when he knows I'll pull away,

because it's so much easier to run when you're alone.

The way his whispers surround me and pull me closer,

And we talk so late into the night that I forget the world around me and the sun rises again.

The way I love him with every breath I take and know without a doubt that I've found something so special they write songs and poems and

books about it and now I finally know why, because I can feel it surrounding me.

I love you.