You are to me what the death of a star is to the universe; the most raw root of existence. I look at you with wordless sentiments and feel the spinning around of every planet in my belly. Like old pages of an excavated book with unidentified manuscripts, that is how I percieve you to be. Of cavemen times, I have loved you since, and watched every wrinkle develop on your soul. These are permanent marks of the many lifetimes I've spent wanting you, entire lifetimes sometimes being spent in a second and sometimes a second equalling our entire birth. I have felt our roots tangle with each other in intimacy and not wanting to let go and I've seen you dance with joy for every leaf you bore. I've bled with every fall of yours and watched your lunatic happiness, and I've loved you in the gaps between each second. You are like a dusty old novel, enchanting majesty in every page, of times that unknowingly came and went by, and I was there wanting you still. I've felt your presence when everything had stilled out and I've watched you grow, with tired rugged hands wiped a few tears that might have been accidentally unconsciously spilled, and had a few of mine wiped as well. I was there wanting you while you were flirting away with every season that came by. I stood still, and when it was all calm and silenced, we still had our roots tangled up and you rested on me as I softly hushed you to sleep. I've spent lifetimes wanting you, I shall spend lifetimes wanting you more.