A lot of times our hearts are out of sync, yours tends to beat fast, and mine runs off machines. Then there are the rare times when my heart sings, yours listens, and when yours is tired, mine beats for it. It's beautiful. Our hearts do a better job of telling our love story than we ever could. I'm too negative for narrative, and you're too crass for poetry, but we try to make up new kindnesses. Not bouquets, or candle lit dinner. Love is quieter than that. Love is a whisper, a secret you so desperately want to tell. It sits on the tip of your lips and outlasts the day until you can meet him again.
My heart is strong. It desires, and wants, and feels everything so intensely. When love is stripped from it, there is nothing else to dream of, nothing left for hope.
But it's only out of sync briefly. A few skips of the heart hasn't killed me thus far, nor you for that matter. A skip of the heart reminds us what it would be like if we didn't have each other to live for. First there is denial, then pain, then finally, you panic before you go cold. There has been a few times I thought resuscitation wouldn't come, and that we couldn't be saved. But you have a good pair of lungs, and I have the fight to survive.
It sounds terrifying, and sometimes it is. I don't claim to be a good lover, girlfriend, or wife, but I try. Trying and hoping is all the future could ask for. You know we'll be okay. I know little of hope, but your happiness helps me. It's a good life source for a steady beat. I never had a common love story.
I never had a common anything, and that's wonderful. I love you,
I love your love.