I like to call you that because somehow it makes you sound poetic. Like a cello sonata that glides across a lake, and wraps itself around lush green trees.
You make me smile so much, with your illegible grin, rosy cheeks, like a babe stolen from a part of heaven, exclusive and secluded. Your tired eyes make me want to snatch the fatigue and implant life so we can sit beneath the sun's lecherous stare and bathe in the freedom of summer.
Some days, we talk and your words dance around me for days, unforgetable and binding, usually meaningless, but fascinating and touching. Some days we walk past each other without a single look, and I love the icy cape that falls around me like a black silk sheet, cold, wet and crisp, the feeling of nothingness upon an emotion carved with the kniving fingertips of obsession.
Tell me straight out, do you love me? Maybe not, I love the love you give me that isn't love at all.