that the slight rememberance of your voice makes my heart smile. Or maybe if I said that you taught me to feel the breeze in my face, to be a little more happy to be alive? I could describe how it feels to be kissed by you, the warmth, the security, the passion, all of that. But it would be pointless, because you wouldn't be inside of me to feel just how intense that sensation is. I could secretely stop time and spend it all just looking at you as you sleep, and, sometimes, as you weep. And I could stroke your hair and place little kisses on your forehead and whisper to you that I love you. I could see you a mile away. I remember dreaming about you, your arms, your smile, how your voice would sound like in my ear; and it's so, so much better than I ever imagined. Sometimes I wonder if it's nothing but a surreal dream or a cruel joke. Reality would never be that sweet to me. You hate pictures of yourself; but I must confess I love to look at you, anytime, anywhere. And you erased them off my camera, so where will I look to now when I need comfort? I could say my love is bigger than the ocean, bigger than the sorrow I feel, bigger than...whatever, but it wouldn't be enough for you to understand, or wouldn't mean much. It is, though, larger than my life. Or yours.