I would have given you all my pencils just so you could feel the way I felt when pictures and words flowed from my hands. I would have given you every painting ever painted; every word ever published; any thought ever proccessed just to let you inside of me.
I would have painted you worlds with words and colors so vibrant your lips would be moist with anticipation and your hands would tremble with desire for more. I would have wrapped you in words so perfect, you would never want to leave the warmth of it for another womans.
But I fear all my effort would not have been enough for you and I would have been left cold and alone, without my words or my colors, for years to come.