You can't disappoint me

I love you as you are, in this breath, in this heartbeat.

Nothing you become will ever disappoint me. I hold no expectations, no rigid visions of what you should be. I do not wish to shape you, nor contain you. I do not love you for who you were yesterday or who you will be tomorrow—I love you as you are, in this breath, in this heartbeat, in this fleeting moment that will never exist again.

You are not a puzzle to be solved, not a script to be followed. You are chaos and quiet, fire and water, untamed and beautiful in ways the world has yet to name. And I—helplessly, endlessly—am here, simply to witness you. To marvel at you. To love you without condition or restraint. You are not meant to be understood; you are meant to be felt, and I feel you in the marrow of my bones, in the pulse of my blood, in the spaces between my breaths where only you exist.

I'm drunk, and all that, but I adore, I adore, I adore, I adore you more than life. My hands tremble with the weight of it, my chest aches with the sheer force of needing you, of loving you so much it spills over, consuming me whole. And, please, don’t let me swill champagne any more. Maybe it’s the warmth of the night, maybe it’s the way your existence lingers in my thoughts like an unshakable melody, but I find myself here, writing to you, about you, for you. Because love is reckless. Love is ruinous. It does not wait for certainty; it does not ask for permission. It arrives like a storm, unrelenting, washing away everything that once made sense. It does not promise forever, only now. And yet, knowing all this, I love you anyway.

What is it about you that makes the world blur at the edges? What is it about your voice, your laughter, your silences that makes my chest tighten and expand all at once? It is something beyond words, beyond reason—an ache, an inevitability. Love, in its truest form, is not safe. It is not logical. It is a surrender, a leap into the unknown, a choice to embrace even the certainty of loss.

Why love what you will one day lose? Because there is nothing else to love. Because love is not about possession; it is about presence. It is about standing before something fleeting and choosing, still, to pour everything you are into it. Love is knowing that even if time erases us, even if we become nothing more than echoes, I will have loved you. I will have loved you in every breath, in every word, in every moment that I carved you into my existence. I will have loved you in the spaces between my ribs, in the depths of my silence, in the places no one else has ever touched.

I will have loved you in the breaking, in the longing, in the unbearable, in the madness of it all. I will have loved you with an intensity that scorches through my soul, that devours me from the inside out, that leaves nothing of me untouched by the gravity of you. I will have loved you with the tenderness of a whispered name at dawn, with the fury of a fire that refuses to die, with the quiet devotion of a heart that beats only in rhythm with yours.

And when the world moves forward, when the years turn us into stories and whispers, I will still be here, with your name carved into the very fabric of my being, knowing—without hesitation, without regret—that loving you was the bravest, truest, most reckless and necessary thing I ever did. Because love like this does not fade. Love like this does not break. Love like this—our love—will echo beyond time, beyond memory, beyond everything except itself.