It's estimated that there are 1,025,109 words in the English language.
Words like divinity, like serendipitous. Words like ardently, like switchblade, like swallowtail. Words that drip off of my tongue like honey. I say petrichor, verdigris, and effervescence with the kind of joy that you inspired in me long before I understood what was happening.
I say luminescence with the same delight that I kissed you with.
I said that I loved you when I ran out of other words.
It is estimated that we knew each other for 849 days before you asked me. In a careful voice. Eyes on the road. Hands at 10 and 2.
It is estimated that we knew each other for 873 days before you told me that, actually, you loved me. Just a fun fact. To do with what I liked.
It is estimated that we knew each other for 874 days before I realised that I didn't know what love was, but maybe it felt a lot like this.
Maybe it felt like the fact that you taught me to see the world in colour.
Maybe it felt like the fact that your warm voice was the one thing that slowed me down enough to regain my balance.
Maybe it felt like almost 900 days worth of casual touches that were suddenly searing my flesh.
Maybe it felt like adoration, like infatuation, like bewitchment.
Maybe.
When you told me that you loved me, my head snapped around to look at you.
And maybe I should remember the moment with words like whiplash, like car smash, like heart attack.
But all I remember thinking was "holy shit."
