I define "I love you" as the simple act of telling you how beautiful you are. It is found in the quiet moments: looking into those big eyes of yours until I blush, or texting that I miss you the second we are apart. But it is also a desperate thing. It is needing to be next to you like a junky in need of a fix. It is the way I play out a zombie apocalypse in my head, knowing without a doubt that you are the first person I would save. To love you is to be impatient; I wait all day just to tell you how it went, already weaving a future that has you in it. I have reached a point where I cannot even spell the word "love" without you—because, to me, the definition of love is simply you. Ultimately, love is saying those three words because I want to, never because I feel an obligation to say them
