I tell her

I tell her. I tell her every day how I feel. I love her. She knows. I tell her all the time. As I write this, I give a thoughtful stare downward and away to the right. I stare at nothing. It’s just somewhere to look while I feel the depth of my love for her well within my soul. The lower-right corner of my black monitor that happens to stand where I gaze only comes into my thoughts because I now realize I am looking through it. It’s love that occupies my being.
I sigh, but find no relief. Love hurts. No, I was not wronged. Yes, she loves me greater. No, I’ve not wronged her. Love hurts when you feel it so completely. Affection of such nature cuts harshly through calm and agitated souls alike. When I inhale, I fully realize the scope of my adoration for her. When I exhale, the rushing egress of air re-enforces my breath's agony.
I feel her. She...