i breathe lifetimes | vkook

1945

13 november .

delicate azalea,

     you are finally mine; my mirthful morning star, my pearl seaside holiday, my scenery of crimson sublime. 

     my darling, i suppose our first journey together─not in this life but among one of many others in the past─comes to you as a thin figment in twilight. i assure you that your mind does not fool when it plays memories of our early life like a straining film. we have existed in timelines long before artistry earned its value. though, as if renewed, i've come to discover only recently that cupid's arrow has impaled me through my figuratives and actualities; so intensely that i feel his suggestion amplifying at every twist of my muscle. 

officially, i am yours by law, by sacred bond, by life and by spirit. 

     my love, it is incomparable to anything i've ever been gifted, the feeling i get when you utter my name in the air we share so intimately. bliss would lack in association. and when you tell me that i resemble a rose in beauty, i lose control of my heartbeat. you are too kind. do you really think this? but when you say that you love me. . . when you say that after you've kissed me, there are no words, my abilities weigh insufficiently so when i try my hardest to mold these feelings into proper, precise verses. such pungence yet softness you hone with the way you roll these words on your tongue and release your breath like the winter breeze that carries a robin's feather through the cold. 

     i would then tell you that i, too, love you. i am deeply in love with you that i am confident any other man would turn sick at my gushing, my spoiling, my earnest affection. i am confident that in my pursuit of convincing someone else that i loved them, as i do to you now, they would simply turn their back on me and serve me rightful dejection. but with you, i hold no doubt. or is it because i cannot allow pessimism to move me? whatever the case may be, i am so sure that three passionate words, with its three syllables and eight letters, is much, much less than what i wish for you to know. . . to feel. would you allow me to offer you my everything so my purpose is perfect?

     in the midst of war and at its closing, here we are, heartstrings entangled, burning flesh with love as if the fires of inferno were but a dwindling little flame on a wick. i am desireful and assailed by anticipation for more evenings to become much like this. a storm, a heat like summer, your hair between my fingers─weightless but real. sink deep inside me and consume me until i become you, my bonfire at dawn. 

eternally, i am yours.

─zinnia