You say you don’t believe in love.

I guess to believe in something, you must learn the definition of it.

I do not know the definition of love.

But I know the warm glow resonating within my ribcage in old love songs, one verse at a time, tingling my spine. And I know the blush on my cheeks and the tear in my eyes when you make me smile for a little too long. I know the way you finish my sentence and the widening of your eyes when I steal your thoughts straight from the neurons in your brain. Or the way my skin moves in crashing waves at your stroke, or the way my body craves yours at the end of every day, or the way our lips are magnetic and when they collide it seems to never be enough. And I know the security, the self-love, self-worth, self-appreciation that began with you and now end within me.

And since my senses are all I have, I believe in everything glowing, blushing, crawling, aching, seeping, whispering, serenading, exploding within me at every magnificent sight of you.

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