Loving You Is Like Reading Books
— Hamlet, William Shakespeare.
Loving you is like opening a cherished book for the very first time—a feeling both familiar and thrillingly new. Each glance, each word shared, unfurls like pages with stories yet untold, inviting me to savor the mystery that is you. With every chapter we share, I become more captivated, lost in the wonder of discovering each detail, each nuance, each sentence that composes you.
In the first chapter, I am shy, fingertips tracing along the edges, uncertain but curious. I pause, smile, let my heart linger on the beauty of beginnings. Each glance is a word, every laughter a sentence. My heart turns pages at a cautious pace, savoring the rhythm of your voice, the melody of your laughter, like lines of poetry woven with care.
As I move deeper into the pages of you, I find myself spellbound by the unexpected twists, the layers that lie beneath. I fall for the complexity in your eyes, the metaphors hidden within your smile. There is suspense in every silence, an unspoken tension in every gaze, like the anticipation before a plot twist—a suspense I ache to unravel, yet a beauty I want to preserve in its raw, untouched grace. I would like to spend my time discovering and analyzing you, studying every hidden detail, every subtle shift, each word and look that reveal the depths of who you are.
Loving you is a library of emotions, from quiet serenity to overwhelming passion. Each day with you is another book pulled from the shelf, another journey that I cherish deeply. Some pages are light and sweet; others, deeper, more profound. But I embrace them all, for they are chapters that make up the whole of you—a work of art no other could ever replicate.
With each passing day, our story grows richer, the ink bolder, the chapters longer. Some days, the narrative is soft and soothing, like a gentle rain; other days, it is a wild, passionate storm, where every line trembles with longing and fervor. I see you in every corner of every place you have never been, my eyes vessel your soul lives in, your face is like braille, your mind is my skin. I find myself rereading the moments that made me laugh, the conversations that left me speechless, the simple glances that spoke more than words ever could.
I know I’ll never reach the final page, and for that, I’m grateful. You are an endless story, a beloved series that never truly concludes, for I’d rather remain in the chapters than rush to any end. The plot may deepen, the prose may shift, but I know each word is woven with a tenderness that grows stronger over time.
- Loving you is reading, savoring, turning pages, lost and found, again and again—until forever. And as long as there are new chapters, I’ll be here, holding each page with reverence, reading you by heart. If you were books, I’d rather spend my time reading you.
