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I do not know if I’m worth this, but:

Will you always love me?

Loving me has been described in a hundred ways, ninety-nine of which are my own metaphors. A storm in a teacup, a hurricane racing down a blind alley, a cloud with no fixed course. You are the author of the hundredth, and I like how you can take infinite turbulence and toss it outside the realms of a seatbelt shaped like the sibilant sound of a ‘yes’, anchoring me in place. I like how, when I ask you this, you never ask me to define “me”, or “you”, or “always” before answering. And the way you can say a yes so easily to a question that I have spent many sleepless nights thinking about.I like the fact that you don’t have to read the terms and conditions before investing in my existence. And how your love for me is the present tense of universal truth and not the dichotomy of quantum physics. And in the end, my friend, I love how I can always feel you at my shoulder, every time I gaze into my own abyss.

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