I have always been silent with my love. My tongue is sore from all the times I've

bit it to keep my words in. It is often bloodied, and my mouth- full of blood I had to spit, and words I learned to swallow.

I'm used to carring my love in an enclosed fist. It tries to escape the flesh barrier but I push my frail fingers together and do my best to keep it in. The love I have, the love that has tried to vamoose (hightail) at every chance has always lived and perished in secret.

I make my confessions only when i'm in a reverie. My words lurk at the edge of my lips and roll out seldom, and covertly. My love lives hidden behind my eyelids, under my flesh, on my fingertips - waiting to break free from imprisonment and spill all over my lover.

As lily-liverered as I am, I am now overtaken by an unwavering urge to scream about my love from rooftops. Never before have I been brave or brazen enough to declare my affection, to paint my lover with kisses, to love out loud. Only after I met you I realized why.

I fight my pigeon-heart and confess my devotion to you till my voice is a cacophony. I love you. As loud as lief, and more than just enough.