You truly start to wonder if you’re the luckiest man in the world, although you don’t know what luck is.
At least once a week for 18 years you declared that good luck never happened to you, yet here it has.
The way she walks, the way she thinks, the way her eyes look back at you.
Thinking back to life before, you realize you never lived, the details melt to less than who and what.
Moments when you see her words rush to your head and emotion to your heart.
Trying longingly to put them on paper or say them aloud but those plans never reach their mark.
Attempts are made but the print on the paper doesn’t translate it the same.
Sounds come from your mouth but the amazing flavor of the words just won’t flow past your tongue.
Maybe simplifying it would work better, where’s the fun in that? You need the romantic gushy stuff.
She is everything.
That’s the golden message, just not jumping off the page or any value as just words, it needs more.
Touch her skin, pass along the vibrations of your heartbeat and take in her warmth.
Press your lips against hers and surround yourself with the air between you two and know you are safe.
Hear her heart, listen to it beat fast and strong, move hair from denying you sight of her beautiful face.
Together this seems like it should translate the idea of her importance, but still no.
Knowledge that the perfection of the whole vastly outweighs the regarding of each interaction.
It’s bittersweet to know how you feel about her yet know you can never fully get her to understand.
So maybe you are still unlucky, to be in love and understand that she will never know,
Just how much you love her, that there is another level that word nor action can add up to.
Maybe it is luck, because she feels the exact same way about you.