Non of these!

“When I say I love you I do not mean it as a place to rest and build walls where you may lean and place pictures, a prison for your legs, a cell to pass your life tricked from roaming. Rather as a thing said that may pass or spark, and in sparking may evaporate, may consume, may snuff, may nothing. And nothing is often the outcropping of love, a twig snapped off. I say I love you on impulse, as I would blink, or shift my arm involuntarily, and this is known and important, to recognize the unthinking that is so much part. I praise the food I eat as I rip and chew. Would you become food for me, a meal where I know myself better, I should betray myself. I say I love you as a means to cast off and fly, a way to open myself to pain, knowing no love is eternal or perfect or meant, and this is better as it is random. Random love is best of all, even if short lived, as all greatness is short. The sunset. The shot of whiskey. The orgasm. The victory. Everything. Only dullness is long and enduring, and I have loved you better than to stay consistent, as a pile of bricks, rather than a rush of blood.”

I’d love to, but only with you.

If we wait until we are ready we will be waiting for the rest of our lives.

Every word has consequences. Every silence, too.