From the mouth of trees.

I believe in you.

When I think of the genetics that formed your DNA and the skin protecting your muscles as they grasp your bones, I smile.

You're so perfect.

I promise to always remind you of how hard you are to put into words. I'll always stutter over myself when you're concerned...that I've come to terms with.

You're almost too much for me. Too much to take in. You're the letter A and Z at the same time, it all starts and ends with you. I tried to fill in the center with 24 other letters but they always seemed to be in the wrong order.

You're the number Pi. Except I like to think you start with 4, just because.

I once had a conversation with a tree and it was all centered around you. The tree told me to run and tell you my thoughts, I asked him to do it instead. He was firmly rooted in the idea that it wasn't his place.

Books tell me that certain ideas are meant to be shared while others are destined to live only in brains and journals. I'm convinced that you're neither of those because I've written about you in every book and wrapped every thought around you and put you into the ears of anyone that would listen.

I'm consumed by you, which some say isn't healthy. But I'm firmly tied to the idea that not every vice is an addiction.

You're my muse.

You're the rose colored glasses from which I view the world. I do everything with you in mind.

I pray that I never have to live in a world where you don't exist.

Jesus Christ...even your name gives me chills.

You're everything.