Morbid

I know what love is, in theory. I can see it in the the eyes of newly weds and hear it in laughter amongst friends as they meander down the road. I can hear it how a singer's voice croons into his microphone, about a woman I'll never meet.

I know that love is, in theory, something that you share with people you care about. Something fleeting, something eternal, something raw. I know that, in theory, it makes your heart flutter and skip beats when you see the person you want to spend eternity with.

I know what love is supposed to feel like. I know how to look like I'm loving in the same way they do. The correct way.

But I don't love, not the correct way. Not the way people need or want. Secret "I love you"s hidden in how I ask if you want the last bite of my food. "You mean so much to me" tucked away behind every hello. I can't seem to get it right, the words clump in my throat when i try to say them like the couples do on TV, like the friends who laugh a little louder together say in moments of vulnerability. "I love you" turns into something else, something smaller. Wrong.

Love, in theory, isn't something you practice saying in a mirror. Love, in theory, isn't something you study and attempt to mimic. But I do. I wonder sometimes if mimicry is enough. It never is.

I love you, in theory. I love you the only way I know how.

"How are you?" (I love you)

"Did you have a good day?" (Please, I love you so much)

The cameras picked something up last night.

i don't mean that as "i prefer night over day" or "the moon is better than the sun" either looking out my window at night and seeing a surprise full moon always fills me with child-like joy. It's like i'm transported to a time where nothing else matters, its just me, my room, and the moon.

the love that fills my heart when i see the moon can't really be put into words. It's like the clouds become crisper, the night sky is a welcoming gray and the branches of the trees are reaching out towards the closest thing they see to paradise.