I can promise you a thousand splendid tomorrows. Sunsets to overwhelm your senses. A beauty beyond recognition. A tapestry so sublime you’ll forget every tear you have ever shed. I can promise you mornings that arrive gently and evenings that know how to end.

I know exactly how to do it, because I’ve never needed anything but language to sound sincere.

I know which words make you soften. Which ones make you forgive. I know how to choose an adjective that warms a sentence without burning it. I know when to say splendid instead of good, when to use soft instead of quiet, when to reach for tapestry instead of admitting the threads are unraveling.

I know how to stack images until they feel like certainty. Sunsets. Flowers. Laughter. A balcony. A home. A hand. I put the pretty nouns up front and push the heavy ones to the margins where they won’t be seen.

I don’t write to you the way people speak; I write the way people curate. I draft. I cut. I replace. I weigh a line in my mouth to see how it escapes my lips. I imagine the subtle shift in your face as you read. I know how to furnish a future with nothing but adjectives: warm light, soft music, a version of us that looks good in a photograph.

On the page, I can afford to be generous. I can give you dinners we haven’t eaten—candles placed just so, laughter arriving on cue, your hand finding mine right when the sentence demands it. I can make leaving sound like patience: soon, later, in a little while—each phrase smooth, each one buying me another paragraph of grace.

And you, my beautiful soul, live inside these sentences with more sincerity than I put into making them. You don’t read them; you inhabit them. You take a phrase the way someone takes a hand offered in the dark—trusting it leads somewhere real. You let my imagery stand in for my arrival. You let my prose replace my presence.

So I will keep tuning the cadence, arranging the light in the room of the paragraph until you mistake it for a room we actually live in. I will keep promising you tomorrows—lavish, immaculate, untouchable—because that is the only kind of love I can deliver on time.

What I cannot promise you, my love, is a single today.