I love you. I love you. I want to jump off rooftops and dive into the bottomless blue to have you know I love you. I want to bellow out these three words, enunciate each syllable with lucidity from the peak of a mountain and I want to run seven kilometers as I pant your name and whisper, “I love you.” They are destructive – my love for you and my penchant for risky utterances, but I have to tell you, no matter the response, even if it shatters my cautious heart to ruination and I have to wrap my cindered bones and keep them safe from the torrent. I want you to know I fell in love with your opalescent eyes when they were teary with mirth, your tousled hair with streaks of summer sun’s alacrity, your rich and sepulchral voice as you murmured my name with a faint smirk on your lush Cupid’s bow and your mind - where my most intimate words found themselves at home, a sanctuary for my misery and more vibrant than our town at Christmas.