She said “Do you love me?”

For some reason I just looked at my shoes. How could I possibly answer that question. Anything I say would be at best a pathetic attempt to explain something words alone could never express.

Would she even know that I can barely breathe when she isn’t near? Or that I wander endlessly until she takes my hand and grounds me? How could I express the ache in my heart that leaves me weak and empty? That I have this continuous roiling in the pit of my stomach because I am so afraid she will stop loving me someday.

What words would tell her she is my life? Or that I would give my life for hers? How could I tell her she flows through my veins and that each step I take is because she wills me to? Would she know that I panic in her absence for fear of never seeing her again? That my greatest regret is knowing that she deserves far better than me?

I wonder if she could possibly know that she lives behind my eyes. That I have memorized everything about her. Her smell. Her taste. The feel of her skin. The heat of her passion. Even the smallest sounds in her most private moments. Does she know that I am no longer me? That everything I am is her?

“Do you love me?” she said.

I looked up from my shoes and just whispered “Yes.”