A pink path made of light, hugs, and lopsided shy grins.
You own that place since the first day I've met you under soft circumstances. (I couldn't stop staring at you and you couldn't stop laughing at the sky. You felt surreal, while I still have no idea what you thought of me that afternoon.)
And I love it to be yours, because even today, I don't want you in any other way. In any other place.
My heart seems happy to warm you up with embarassing letters, and you'd be comfy with the attention (or not, who knows?).
I like to please it letting them be known to the world, for anyone interested to feel a bit like myself, for a little while.
I can't stop writting about you. I have no desire to stop; if I did, it would mean to kick you out of my heart, and my heart doesn't want that ever.
Love is meant to be free, to last till forever if you want, and to be kept as it is: a treasure.
I'm sorry for any inconvenience.