I can't tell you how I love you because I might forget how it began, uncertain and excited. I might mention how you stopped my breath on our first date in your orange crewneck sweater. You walked up to me from the other side of the bar and I felt like the luckiest person knowing you were there for me. And I might mention how I left your side because I knew how long you might stay if I didn't. I might also mention how you left the second time because I hadn't told you.
I can't tell you how I love you because your friends would beg you to leave such negligence. They couldn't understand, Even if I mentioned how I don't own you, but instead know you, and delight in your autonomy. I might mention how your love, deep and romantic, for others makes me feel more at home with you. More loved by you. How your ability to share inspires admiration and requited community that is essential to our thriving.
I can't tell you how I love you because your mother would clutch pearls and never look at me the same again. I might mention how the sun catches a particular glint in your eye that is escalated quickly by a mischievous brow raise or disapproving furrow. And I might mention how that escalated glint turns my breath to hot fumes relieved only by the pressure of your lips on my skin.
But I wouldn't... At least, not in front of your mother.
I can't tell you how I love you because I still don't know the extent of it yet.
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.

Comments (3)
Oh count the reasons I can't tell you that I love you. Nicely written.
Oh, just lovely, kp
🥰😈🥹😽