She loves you the way that sunlight loves to thread itself through your window blinds in the mornings.
How at eight a.m., when the world is still waking up, she has already been up for hours taking in every detail of the new day around her. A scuff on the wall she never noticed, a brand new and mysterious bruise on her peach knees. The even breathing of you by her side. She loves you enough to be the sun on new mornings, whether she can so simply reach and touch your arm with warmth, or if she has to try harder through thick clouds to reach you.
She loves you in how you inspire her to do what she never does on her own.
Get her out of bed on the rainy mornings where she doesn’t want to get up. Or just stay in bed with her, stretching your toes, lazing under heavy covers, tracing cheekbones and collarbones. Dragging clean sheets across the kitchen floor to make sticky pancakes, and laughing too loudly in the morning at the shapes attempted in the batter. She loves you as breakfast in bed, or brunch far away. Singing out loud washing dishes, or leaving a mess for later.
She loves you in the darker moments, the darker nights, or the ink-clouded days that loom.
She loves you and becomes the moon. The silver light to remind you that there is still something brighter. The paper-thin crescent that fights to keep a glowing luster pointed in your direction. She stays as the pearlescent ghost to show you that on any dark side is a light one on the other. She loves you as the silence deafens after the sun sets, and the sky becomes dotted with stars and airplane lights.
She loves you so greatly, that she’ll offer every ounce of light within her to you.
Her love speaks every one of the five languages. It lingers during the sunny days, the rainy and cold, and the stillness of nighttime.