“I love you more” was never an actual, calculated comparison. Comparing two loves is synonymous as comparing two infinities, seemingly impossible, yet possible- as it is definite that some loves are greater than other loves, as some infinities are greater than other infinities (yet both are incapable of grasping, so we relate it to what we can understand.) And to say that I love you more, it is not to say ‘more than you love me’ (because only you know the weight of your heart)- but it is more than what I know to be love. And if I love you more than all of my loves, all of the small paper hearts (carefully cut and taped together) that make up what I know (and you know) to be my heart, I hope it will be enough.
I cannot help but tell you, how much I love you— more than Van Gogh’s Starry Night on the Rhone and more than the brown(pink?) shade of night skies in the winter. I love you more than the scent of the dusty old books, or museums with artifacts of gold and silver. I love you more than the twinkle of orange streetlights on quiet rainy evenings and the aroma of the petrichor afterward. I love you more than the summer’s fields of wheat soaked in the golden hour…(and the bluebird, silently chirping in my heart)
I have recognized our constellation in the stars laying side by side (in fresh cut grass), as the sky spells out all that I had loved. And my heart races back to a time when I had once believed I knew what love was. But your love is of no comparison (like the one that moves the sun and other stars). And so, I hope you can understand, I hope it will be enough—
I love you more, my dear, I love you more than (all that I have) love(d).