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He loves you.
He loves you a lot.
He loves you more than he knows what to do with.
He loves you like the sun will rise, like it will set.
He loves you like the pull between the tide and the moon.
He loves you more than what he is made of.
He loves you more in spaces that have no more room.
He loves you at times that there is none left.
He loves you so much that it is not a part of himself, it is an entity all its own.
It lives and loves beyond him and the tight restraints of terrestrial space and linear time.
He loves you and he might not say it,
Not because he's dumb (even though he can be),
But because he knows there is no way to say it.
He can't equate it.
He can't relay it.
He can only feel it and live it and give it to you.
And you're someone that can love him that strange way he is.
And I'm so, so glad he's finally found you.
I'm so glad he has you.
Finally.
Finally.

He loves you.