A/N: I don't know if I'll be able to update HHD for a while since I'm kind of busy. I'll try, of course, but try not to get your hopes up. I've had this one-shot done for a while, and I've been waiting for the right time to upload this so here it is! Enjoy!

Inspired by one of my favorite poems and poet: Pablo Neruda's "Sonnet XVII. (Under Her Thumb was also influenced by him, if anyone is curious).

I love you without knowing how

He doesn't know how he loves her. He just does.

Or when

Nor does he know when he started loving her. He just feels that it's been for a while, for longer than he can recall, longer than he probably wants to admit.

or from where

He doesn't know if he loves her from his heart or from his head. He feels that it's both or neither or something entirely other. He feels like his love stems from every part of him. At the same time, he feels nothing. Like he loves her the same way his brain functions: innately.

I love you straightforwardly without complexities or pride

It's so easy for him to love her. He does it without thinking. And his love is not prideful, but if he were asked, he would be proud that he loves her. He would boast that the woman he loves is so utterly human, so amazingly surreal. And he is proud of how much he loves her because he knows he loves her more than she could possibly love him, and he's glad that he does. She deserves it.

So I love you because I know no other way than this

He isn't even aware of a time in which he knew her and didn't feel for her. He looks back and tries to pinpoint a moment in which she was just a stranger. In which he felt apathy for her, but since the moment he met her, she's always brought out some kind of emotion out of him. She was always different to him. She always stood out to him, and because of that, he never had the chance to see anyone else. It's always been her. It'll always be her.

Where I do not exist, nor you

He loves her in a way that's probably not healthy because he loves her completely. He loves her in a way that should be impossible. He loves her selfishly, whole-heartedly, manically, but he also loves her peacefully, beautifully, unconditionally. He loves her in a way that Love itself would be jealous. And she loves him. She tells him so.

So close that your hand on my chest is my hand

She tells him so. She shows him. She loves him. Oh, she does, but her love is pure. Purer than his, lighter than his. Because if she loved him the way he loves her, it would crush her. But he can only love her the way he does because she loves him. He can bear the weight of it because she is there to share it. Just like she gives him her pure love because he can't exist without it.

So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

They love each other. Not because they want to, they do, but because they have to. They need to. No other will ever compare. No one will ever defy fate and separate them because he'll fight for her, for them. And after each battle, he'll come home to her and fall into her arms and slip into their predestined love.