“My love, I don’t want to know all the basic things about you, I want you to tell me the things no one cares to ask. Tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with, tell me why you loved them. Tell if there has been a day where you didn’t want to wake up the next morning. Tell me what the word “home” means to you. I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders. I want you to tell me the day you truly felt the happiest you’ve ever been. Do you wish you’re last love stayed or are you happier without them? Tel me what makes you happy and what makes you mad. Do you prefer bright colours or dull ones? I wanna know what you think of your first name, I can only imagine your mother’s joy when she spoke it for the first time. I want you to tell me all the ways helped people. I want know more than what you do for a living or what you wish to be. I want to know if you love yourself enough to receive gifts. I wanna know if you sometimes bleed through the wounds of others. I want to know you, all of you. Because the more I get to know you, the more I grow to love you.”
— p.s.w // excerpt from a book I’ll never write #268
