the everlasting fondness of words

I love you.

I’ve uttered this phrase on quiet mornings, breezy drives, cold nights, and warm evenings.

Oh, ohhhh.

The everlasting fondness of words.

In these quiet mornings, breezy drives, cold nights, and warm evenings. The phrase doesn’t change, but does the meaning?

The hue of yellow that spreads through the curtain, soft, more so delicate, said delicately and meant passionately

I love you.

What? What do you love?

I love writing in silence, phhhfff, everyone loves

So? What’s the difference in loving someone?

Especially when said in quiet mornings, breezy drives, cold nights, and warm evenings

Wind blows through your window, every curl unleashed like springs in your new and restored cushion that you love.

“Love me” she says. Why?

That simple word should put you off, should put her off.

Tell me why, WHY, why.

clatter, strange, clatter of what? Teeth? Maybe she’ll feel safe when you say it in dire times. Clatter of emotion, meant to say it passionately, instead said in a rush, in chilly, in dolorous, desperate, rush.

So, quiet mornings? breezy drives? cold nights? warm evenings?

Ah.

Warm evenings. Think. Think?

Orange hues, some coffee over the stove, your sister laughs as you burn yourself with that coffee. The Colombian blend your mother loves.

I love you.

Fleeting, sweet, and gone.

So as to love? What’s the answer?

Say it, say it, say it, say IT.

Quiet mornings, breezy drives, cold nights, and warm evenings.

I love you.