Hey, Mr. Dino, it's me, Apa! And I want to talk about some things.
You know, my soft prince, I really love the little things you do. They are the most reassuring affirmation of love and trust that I could ever feel.
I love knowing you are eating and taking care of yourself. I love knowing you poop often. I love knowing obscure, small things about yourself. I love knowing how freaky and sexual you get.
I love that I love your insecurities. Yes, it is bad you have them to begin with, but I love loving them even if you cannot see it yourself.
"You try your best, don't you, Shall?"
"I do, my princess."
"I know you do, baby. I don't think that I ever felt this safe and secure."
It's kind of the truth with her, Mr. Dino. You are so soft and so fair. I don't think I have once felt such warmth in winter with the blanket I call you before.
Characteristics so soft, so demure, so powerful and graceful. Your whole existence and steps on the road scream of how brilliant your essence is.
You know, my soft boy, you would still be my soft boy no matter what. I wouldn't care about your weight, your height, your looks, nor other trivial things other people do. That is perspiring the least.
I would still love you even if you had no body at all. I would still love you even if you had no arms and feet. I would still love you even if your skin was burned. I would still love you even if you were blind. I would still love you even if you had every single parasite and possible virus or illness. I would still love you even if your soul was trapped in a box. I would still love... I can go on forever with the "I would still love you's," but Mr. Dino, I think that you get the point.
I love you.
My eyes right now so often drifting, almost wanting to sleep, but the only action I want to make a verb is making my fingers feel let down at the sign of defeat trying to express my love through ink.
Insecurities, huh? They are so weird, aren't they, my soft boy? They only exist because others in this world decided to shame others and changed the narrative and perception of everything. Why is it that my boy has to suffer through this too, I wonder?
Well, the wondering for Apa is devastating indeed, isn't it? To know that her sweet prince is feeling like that. But Apa also won't deny to her sweet prince she also feels the same about this all. She feels a bit bad too about it because the bad dinosaurs have hurt her and ripped her in and out, so know that she feels spikes of love, but she does not want it to be the end of love because of insecurity and something hard to maintain and talk about.
I am a very jealous girl, my soft boy. I just need your cute cuddles and to make out all day. Me love you.
The temperature you decided to exude is so high that I can only call you my sunshine.
The smell from the petaled odor you ooze out is so sweet and floral. Perhaps for Valentine's, I just need to lick you.
The colors of your intention are so bright that whatever you lay your hands on, it turns into the positive.
The housing you provide for my heart has turned me from a homelessly loveless girl to a housewife of adoration.
It's getting harder and harder to write more poems about you. Words cannot capture our love and the way we feel. But I will create new "I love you's" because I love you.
My boy, I often feel like we are chained together—kinda hot, right? But I also mean it in the sense of us being alive. I really am chained to you and you are chained to mua!
I think that that's how it should be, though, shouldn't it? It should just be us, no one else, just us. Us healing ourselves and growing together. Have you heard the term "honeymoon phase?" I don't think we have that, hun. I don't want a honeymoon phase, I just want a honeymoon life with my honey and softie husband. My cute, soft... and perhaps chained on the bed smirk prince.