The best storybooks wrap us in perfection, letters curling around a flowery narrative.

The best fairy tales are littered with bubblegum Godmothers and sun-kissed martyrs.

The best love songs are linear romances, notes glowing with promise and perfection.

My story, my fairytale, my song so far, has been trigonometric,

Lines curving and downgrading at every turn of the page

My Godmothers have been emissaries to deliver unsatisfactory results,

And my storybooks have possessed burnt edges, words falling into charcoal jumbles.

Narratives have found me in darkened rooms and stifled the remaining flames.

Heroes have destroyed their kind armor, only to suffocate me with the polished armor.

Yet, the universe made a special little gift for a woeful ghost.

It has crafted a heart made of gentle rose petals,

Hands of ancient and steady marble,

And kaleidoscope eyes, stained glass windows into a mesmeric soul.

Trees have become more than oxygen pigeons,

Rain more than an elementary fertilizer.

Colors have become more vivid, more vibrant than previously imagined.

The best storybooks are written by a loving author, a pen held in steadfast determination,

The best fairytales are narrated by an astute nobleman with the sweetest smile ever known.

The best love songs are sung by true companions, composed in the image of absolute devotion.

To my most powerful lover, my most affectionate gift:

The equation is now exponential, my days are creating brighter murals.

My heart is killing doubt and planting seeds of tenacity.

Voices are softer, body parts no longer enemies.

To my newest chapter, my greatest tale, and the biggest hit:

I love you