The world inside her


‘Why do you like me?’ she asks.
Her eyes are big, full of promises and dreams and life. You look right into them, but don’t utter a single word. You can’t.
She’s beautiful. Stunning, actually. She’s the kind of beauty poems are written about. She inspires painters and musicians with her beauty. She’s art.
But you don’t like her because she’s beautiful.
You like her because the world is a better place with her. When she’s near you, it’s both harder and easier to breathe.
She drinks her tea with milk and honey. She reads more then she breathes. She loves more deeply than anyone has ever loved. She has a messy writing for she is too busy living to waste time on wriing slowly and beautiful. She laughs and lives and dances and loves and lives the rain. She enjoys mistakes and loves her life more than anyone you’ve ever met.
She loves music like one would live. She doesn’t just listen to it. She breathes it, she lives it.
She has the nicest and softest voice. Music to your ears. She speaks with passion and you love fighting with her because she gets all worked up and her voice is even more lovely than herself.
Her laugh though. Her laugh is the sweetest sound one could hear. You don’t want her to ever stop laughing. Her entire being lights up and in that moment she’s more alive than ever. It’s a tragedy every time she stops laughing.
She’s not just beautiful when she cries. She’s like art. Messy, beautiful, sad, tragic, monumental.
She’s beautiful even when she’s not.
She enjoys the small things more than she enjoys the miracles of life. She’s like a child, stuck in a world of adults.
Her smell is unforgettable. Whenever she’s with you, you can’t breathe anything else but her, her sweet and toxic scent.
You like her because she’s everything and she doesn’t even know it. When you’re with her she fills all the spaces, even the ones that don’t need filling. She fills you with hope and dreams. With life. There’s only her and nothing else.
She invades your whole self, your everything. You don’t stop her though because you can’t. She’s like a drug, like your own drug.
She takes it all and you let her. You let her because every time she touches you you’re nothing. You’re air. You evaporate. You’re hopeless.
She becomes everything. You’re everything.
In that moment you realize. You don’t just like her. You love her. You love her more than anyone has ever loved anything. She’s the greatest miracle of life. Of your life.
Your heart is suddenly too big to fit in your body. It’s bursting.
You wish you could tell her everything. You wish you could make her understand how great your love for her is. But that’s impossible when you don’t even understand it yourself.
You wish you could make her feel the beat of your heart that skips when you feel her near you. When you live her.
You wish you could get her inside your mind. Your mind is filled with beautiful thoughts about her, with love and dreams. If you could, you could show her how you see her.
Your mind and your heart, everything is filled with her.
But you can’t do any of that. All you can do is promise yourself, promise her that you will make her feel what it’s like to be loved by you.
You smile at her and call her AZ. She laughs, puzzled by the nickname you just gave her. She asks you what it means.
You tell her. AZ means that everything starts and ends with her.
There’s love in her eyes and she kisses you. Her kiss is so passionate, so full of love and everything she can’t say that it starts fires and wars.
And even though you don’t say it, she understands. She doesn’t say it either, but you understand too.
She puts her arms around you and embraces you. There’s a whole world in her kiss and in her arms.
Your world.

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