The Thornless Rose by Renold Mueller

It’s you.
It’s you who I drive five hours into the middle of nowhere just to see for a day.
It’s you who I let perform exfoliation therapies on my acned face.
It’s you who I can play boring video games with for an age, and leave me feeling more satisfied with how I used my time than if I had spent it any other way.
It’s you who I could do anything with, no matter how mundane, and still be the happiest man on earth.
It’s you who picks up all the slack I leave behind.
It’s you who I can drop my guard with, abandoning my perfectionist obsessions.
It’s you who helps me acknowledge where my limits lie.
It’s you who I let in, like a wayward rose that happens upon a slender fault in stone, hatching and growing until the stone relents and splits.
It’s you who makes me embrace everything that makes me who I am.
It’s you who affirms me absolutely, yet humbles me even more.
It’s you who completes my whole, like the last pieces of a puzzle.
It’s you who I see as unconditionally beautiful, no matter what you might think at any given time.
It’s you who takes all my fears away, save for the fear that some day, you may not call me yours.
It’s you who I would follow into any horizon, just to stay by your side.
It’s you who I want to settle down with, to grow old, and finally rest.
It’s you who I love.

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