you write in languages my soul can’t read, what is “joy” and can you use it in a sentence? what do you mean when you say “my “happiness” is your priority and how do you expect me to understand phrases my vocabulary has never experienced?

you write in languages my soul isn’t used to, your words seem disordered and out of place, why do you always put “we” before everything and respond with patience after every mistake?

you write in languages my soul can’t piece together, you arrange alphabets in a way that makes the lies I’m accustomed to sound like truths, almost like promises from your lips to God’s ears that are later translated into actions my heart struggles to deny.

you write in complete sentences, your love ends in full stops; so I never question it.

you write in inverted commas, so I’m sure the love always comes from you.

you write in poetry, so I find romance in all you do; in the metaphors you call compliments and the pet names you offer that are worthy of being titles. you love me like a love letter, full of emotion and well thought out.