loving you is (not) a miracle.

Blissful nights when you tell me that finding me is god’s gift to you. That there must be someone up there watching you, for us to have found a love so divine. This love is blind eyes opening. Crippled legs walking. Our virgin lips break forth and speak – this love is a miracle. & I tell you that finding you is proof of nothing, because we were bound to happen. There’s nothing divine about this attraction, like there’s nothing divine about gravity. Or magnetism. Or electricity. We’ve got this love wired into our atoms. The physics of our chemistry is detailed by our sheer existence, & you don’t have to thank a god for that, but I understand. I understand that sometimes, love this phenomenal needs explaining. I too, have found myself lacking as I grasp for words to explain how you unravel me. I too, have found myself grasping at straws as I attempt to understand all that loving you does to every bit of me, and if a god is how you explain this, how could I not love you for that too?