The other night,
I found myself swirling in a pool of ecstasy

It only took three words,
Three syllables,
and once they escaped your lips,
the blood thrummed in my ears,
a symphony that I had only ever heard 
in times of panic.

But this time,
as my heart raced,
and a smile carved itself into my face,
burning permanent lines into my cheeks
for years to come, 
the blood was not vengeful.

No, it was not forcing me to
surrender myself to my bathroom floor in tears.

Instead, it lifted me up,
catapaulting me into euphoria.

Is it really a drug if there is no comedown?

Three syllables
Three words
and all of the scars are worth it 

Three words
Three syllables
and all of those minutes spent determining my 
life's validity cease to matter

Three words
Three syllables
and I am not afraid anymore.

I cannot find the little girl that felt the need to
escape everything.
I cannot find the little hyperventilating mass who
believed her only reasons to be loved were her 
physical affections.

For she has overdosed on this ambrosia.

What has risen in her place is a being love.
A woman, who for the first time, has understood
the godly power behind those eight letters.

A woman who knows her tears were not in vain
A woman who would relive her torture again and 
again just to have the taste of that ambrosia
again.

For now she knows its true value
And by the heavens she will cherish it until her 
dying days.

And yes,

I love you,
I always have.