inspired by Bryan Ferry–Slave to love.

Henry didn't know that he was able to love so much. Love flowed through his veins, love kept him awake, all the poems talked about love.

It was a young love when you are still too old to think about problems, but at the same time ready to dissolve in each other.

It was love written in ink in the margins of the notes that Henry carefully let you write off. It was love in the form of his favorite cherry pie, which you brought him every day from the coffee shop where you worked part-time after college. It was love when Henry finally understood what it was to be happy when he sees how happy you are.

Henry told his mom about you after you told him "I love you" for the first time. He was happy to go on Christmas to meet your parents, where the whole big family hungled up by a small fireplace. You gave Henry a real family.

"I want to be with you all my life," he whispered when you two were lying in his bed, Henry gently going through your long silk hair with his fingers.