He is my four word summary.

He can be summed up in exactly four words. I can put his role in my life into four simple words. Everything he is to me can be put into four easy words. Nothing difficult, nothing hidden. Four easy words. Four syllables. Yet they hide so much more. These four words put everything in display, show all the cards in my hand and reveal everything hidden. They show my only best friend, my first love, my second boyfriend, and third reason to cry. The sentence shows everything.

They may be short, but these four words are the world.

You are my life.

But he is so confused he doesn't get it.

Yet when I told him, he blinked once. Twice. Smiled and nodded. He didn't get it. I didn't tell him the exact four words--no, heaven forbid my melting into a gooey puddle--but I had given him enough clues to be able to guess what it had meant.

More than enough actually.

It was a miracle that he didn't get it. Quite the miracle. After all, playing hangman with the quote, texting him the quote under the pretext of a book quote, bringing it into the conversation under the pretext of a movie quote, and much more, it was quite the miracle that he didn't understand. Quite the miracle.

But only to me is it something to smile at.

And yet, there's something endearing about the way he scrunches his brows together, trying to figure out the four word sentence with such a passion it blazes in his eyes.

And yet, there's something touching about the serious manner he takes this issue, the way he thinks for hours on end without realizing it all because I pointed it out.

And yet, there's something loving about the gentle and solemn method he uses, taking everything apart and trying to piece together the pieces as though it were the answer to the meaning of life.

He was my four word summary.
But he was so confused he doesn't get it.
But only to me was it something to smile at.

...xXx...

She is my four word whisper.

It's amazing, I always think, that I can sum up her existence in four words, four words that I whisper every night to the moon before I sleep. It's wonderful, I constantly wonder, that my only love, my first friend, my second laugh, and my third piece of happiness can be stated in four words, a single, short sentence.

The four words are short, simple, but mean everything and show everything.

I live for you.

But she is so stubborn she doesn't quite understand.

However, despite my whispers, she doesn't understand. She doesn't seem to realize that it's the truth. She continuously insists that it's impossible. That it's only a lie to make her feel better, to make her feel constantly with me, but it's not a fib. 

It's like the air itself, constant, everywhere, and always existant. There is no other way to put it, no roundabout tale to tell. Without her, I can't live, not anymore.

It's as simple as that.

But only to me is it something endearing.

And yet, despite its irritating features, there's something oddly adorable about the way she pouts, looking at me with eyes ablaze as she tries to draw something from my soul.

And yet, despite its exasperating components, there's something oddly touching about her insistence that I can live on my own, a sign of her trust for me that makes my heart soar.

And yet, despite its unyielding part, there's something oddly fascinating about how interesting she is, surprising me again and again even though I know so much about her and her me.

She was my four word whisper.
But she was so stubborn she didn't quite understand.
But only to me was it something endearing.