So what of my love? How do I convey what is in my heart so that you can grasp that which only I feel? I haven’t the talent of poetry and my rhymes would fall flat. I cannot knit you a sweater that would hug your frame and warm you the way that loving you does so for me. I haven’t the chef skills to make you a meal that would fill your belly and satiate your taste buds.

Short of opening my vein, collecting my blood in a chalice, dipping a paint brush in and swabbing a canvas with my vermillion life, how will you ever know that what I feel is not the reflection of love or a metaphor of love, but the very literal thing that pulses through my body? And so I return to words, and say simply, “Te quiero.” It is not enough, but for now it will have to do.