Honesty extracted heals great wounds

To the one that I am in love with:

I need to be able to describe this passion with words that don't
frustrate me with their futile meaning. I can quote poets who can say
better than me how you fill the chasms in my soul that were made by
some sort of God for you.

Somehow you scare me with the emotion that you set on fire in me. It
was frosted cold and broken before your kiss ignited it and now it
clings on to me, threatening to kill me if it dies itself. I fear that
it may not be bluffing.

I also fear that it may be suicidal and try to drive you away.

Every poisoned thought I have has your antidote. Every bleeding scar I
cut has your bandage. Every futile word I write has your inspiration.
You are more to me than my muse, you are my soul, my heart, my lungs,
my mind.

I need your words, your voice, your touch and your caress. Just so that
I know that I am still alive and I can still crave and that I can still
love someone the way that I have always wanted to love someone.

I'll devote to you and emote with you and anything else that you want
me to do. I'd sacrifice all liberties I have to spend my forever with
you.

I wish my words could mean more than this collection of pre arranged
letters. But there is no form of communication to show you how much you
make my soul stronger and my heart pump faster.

Thusly, I feel this might just be love.