There is this familiarity that I get only when I'm with you. Like our souls know each other and it's a sigh of relief to be in your presence. It's comfortable, easy, love. I miss you in a way that I know I'm going to see you again...with surety and confidence that one day you'll wake up and decide to acknowledge what you already know: that I'm it, your person, the yin to your yang, the missing piece, the happily ever after you deserve. 

But we aren't together. And...Maybe that's why all the greatest love stories end in loss. You don't realize it's that great until it's gone. Until you're on another first date and conversation stalls in a way it never did with me. And you try to mend it with another first kiss that isn't even half as passionate as ours was. And your laughter was hollow...or forced. And slowly you begin to realize that what we had wasn't a Disney movie...but it was better because it was real, and raw, and tangible. That my love for you is so endless and deep that it can't compare to anything else. 

I don't know how to not feel this way about you. To turn my heart off and tell my soul that this is it. Because deep down I know it isn't. You want our story to be perfect. But life isn't perfect. It is messy. And we are messy. And things between us are messy, but together we are beautiful. And that's all I've never said to you a thousand times but have wanted to with every breath I take.