Skip to content



Kay C., 01 Feb '13

If I love you,

I will write you bad poetry and little snatches of the ways I think you’re utterly irreplaceable in my life. You’ll find small notes between the pages of your books, small post-its with a thoughtful, musing sentence about how wonderful I think you are.

If I love you,

I’ll send you short essays via text, each a little longer than the last as my feelings begin to grow for you as well to the point where my heart is fit to burst. You’ll wake up to a strange, misplaced not-soliloquy in your inbox, something that starts with, “This reminded me of you last night, my love” before I start waxing lyrical about how your every look, your every touch makes me feel like the most beloved and special person alive.

If I love you,

I’ll write for you, write of you, write to you, even write with you. For the last, I might sit next to you on the couch as we’re doing our own thing, and scribble stuff down absently as I tell you, occasionally looking up from beneath my lashes, to say: “Between my waking moments and the dawn, you’re my light when you smile at me in the almost-dark, when your fingers link with mine and everything shifts into a perfect, breathless little moment of stillness.” And I’ll smile, you’ll look at me, puzzled but amused, and I’ll wave and tell you never mind, it’s just, just that I, words can’t really fully describe how much I feel for you. it’s okay. But I’ll keep writing, until I manage to find a sentence here, a phrase there, that somehow mirrors accurately what I’d like you to know about the way I love you, with all of my being.

If I love you,

I will never stop writing. I have written essays night after night to my past lovers, always different, always long, always intense because I love wholeheartedly, because I love with passion. And you, you will be my passion, then. I might not be a writer, but I write, and I am creative; I assure you I am one of the most romantic souls you’ll ever meet, ever date, perhaps ever marry, and I will find something new to love about you each day, and tell you about it. I will cloak it in the shadows of my paragraphs, the winding paths of the spaces between my words, in the breaks between you and I as I recall the day we met in prose.

If I love you,

You will know. Over and over and over, as my pen bleeds ink onto the leafs I will leave you, as I leave small messages in your chatboxes, as I whisper how much I do into the curves of your knuckles as I kiss them. I am a person of words; action, too, but mostly words. I have my shy moments, where I pull back when my mouth fails me, but I will fearlessly continue writing to express that which the spoken word cannot, until my love is etched onto your skin, sewed into soft seams on the edges of your heart, where I hope to always stay.