Cultivating Roses in Cyberspace

My love language looks like evenings spread against the skies,

it looks like you and I sucking the nectar out of life together,

making memories of only which you and I can attest to,

enjoying each other’s quiet company from across the room and hoping that these moments don’t go awry,

it looks like reaching such great heights with you,

because my love language is deeply and utterly invested, it’s true,

the type that goes all in and always bets on us,

the type that wants to slow dance while wrapped in your embrace,

the type that will stare at you with a silly expression on its face right before kissing you and running away,

juvenile and sweet,

yet mature enough to know when to comfort and guide you,

my love language is mostly idealistic, I can acknowledge it,

it flows like a wave and gently kisses the beach,

it craves physical and emotional connectivity,

it’s intuitive,

it’s passionate,

it’s more than just pleasures of the flesh,

it looks like staying up on the phone until midnight has passed,

peeling away at each others minds like an onion,

inch by inch,

layer by layer,

one thought after the other,

time doesn’t exist in this realm of bliss,

it’s but an illusion of which you and I consistently get lost in,

the memory of each other in conversation,

in flirtation,

engaged,

fixed,

eager to utter those words which overwhelm my chest cavity with fullness,

the type that wants the little butterflies of hope to break free from their ribbed prison,

the type that wants to cross that milestone but always find excuses,

it’s not the right time,

it's not the right place,

we’ve cultivated roses for months in cyberspace,

but here we are now face-to-face,

no longer a person on the other side of the screen,

and my love language doesn’t want to play by the rules,

it wants to redefine the rules,

wants to profess what I’ve been wanting to confess,

that I am truly,

deeply,

madly,

in love

with

you.