The humbling possibility that you love me more than you actually let on, that lies within your soul a home for me, that you worship every fragment of my soul in the temple of my being, that you love me so much it terrifies you beyond ashes level and that nostalgias of me successfully manage to keep you from slumber thinking about all the honey sweet mellow things you want to whisper to me when I wake from yet another nightmare, is what carries me through the rocky bumps on the road.
The probability that you fear losing me as much as I fear losing myself in the fogs of the earth makes me love you more than I care to admit, even to my little ever wavering heart.
The likelihood that you wear my love around your neck for the world and the hopeful other hers to see, is what defines how alive I will be the next day.
The life threatening possibility that I'm just fooling myself and that you'd merrily cherry-pick a life free of me, free of us and the house we built, leaving lifeless on the ground the portraits of our imaginary sons and daughters, please do keep it to yourself for my own sanity
But, but, but you do love me right?