First law of feeling too much

I love you so much, like so fucking much.

Love's not enough of a word, not for this rupture in my chest, this big bang behind my ribs, that keeps expanding every time you smile.

I love you so much it's violent, so much it's stupid. I love you like a black hole loves light: hungry, endless, all consuming.

And if this is madness, then write me down in the textbooks as the first law of feeling too much.

I love you so much it makes me nauseous, so much I can't think, can't breathe, can't exist right.

Time itself is jealous of how I spend every second thinking of you.

You are the unshakable core of every theory my heart runs on.

You walk into a room and my neurons play russian roulette, my heart turns quantum: here, not here, here again.

You are a paradox, and I'm a scientist too in love to look away.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, each repetition a heartbeat.

This isn’t sweet.

This isn’t sane.

It’s spiraling at 3 a.m.,

heartbeat going crazy,

hands shaking,

breath gone,

brain stuck on one thought:

youyouyouyouyouyouyou