““So how do you know?” They asked. “How do you know that you love her?” How do I know? She falls asleep on me in the middle or conversations. Conversations where I find myself telling her that she is more beautiful than any character an author could think about writing into a story. Conversations where I tell her just how long I have waited for her to finally be written into mine and as my words become her bedtime story, I let her sleep and I pull her close to me thinking how lucky I am to be able to admire such beauty. How do I know? I hate her favorite song and find myself singing along to it every time it comes on the radio, even when I am alone, picturing her smile in my head and the way she would flip her hair around to the beat, casually shooting me a wink after every time she sings her favorite part. How do I know? Because every time I leave her, no matter the time spent away, I miss her the second I let go. I find it hard for me to get out of bed, even if just to turn the light off in fear of losing even seconds with her wrapped up in my arms. You see, love to me has always been explainable. “I love her because she treats me well.” Or “I love her because of who she is.” But with her, I cannot explain my love. This..this is the ultimate reason how I know I love her. I will never be able to explain how I keep myself from screaming I love you every time I lay in bed and simply picture her smile.”
— laramiegreene
