Writing for you, my love, is like boiling away the excess and blurring the fudgy excesses of memory.
Writing for you is like chocolate syrup which overflows and makes the ice-cream tastier.
Writing for you is like imagining the best flavour of coffee melting away any bitterness in the steadfast vision of you.
Writing for you is like remembering the smell of smoke and outdoor leaves in autumn.
Writing for you is like remembering a scar which diminishes through a tan under a peachy sun.
Writing for you is like sipping chilled wine on a hot summer evening.
Writing for you is like being busy enough with a variety of interests like reading, movies and binge watching television series on the likes of Netflix and Amazon, but with you always on the periphery of my consciousness.
Writing for you is like sunshine on my shoulders on a warm day in spring, when the light radiates with a hue which burns speech.
Writing for you is like running barefoot in a running spring of water, and letting the water tarnish the myth of sensory inputs.
Writing for you is like wandering in a wood on a full moon night, watching the trees ineluctably swirl in intoxicating hues of white and silver.
Writing for you is like tender crisp journey of binge-eating.
Writing for you means nibbling on my pen, watching it sketch your portrait through simple and elegant words, spilling your colours through a medium which estranges your memory as well as brings you closer, somehow.
Writing for you is like being drenched in colours which splash all the way down to the edges, painstakingly giving birth to the idea of you.
Writing for you is creating art through only one letter 'P'.
Writing for you is achieving nirvana.