Kassian Veylor - I Love You II

A reflective prose ballad on love, self-doubt, and the quiet triumph of devotion. When quarrels fade and hearts speak plainly, one voice answers: “I love thee more.” Not a contest, but a confession—finding grace in another’s eyes, and becoming more human because of it. For anyone who has ever felt unworthy of being loved back. ⚠️ AI Use Disclosure: AI is used only for narration, visuals, and production assistance. All writing, characters, worlds, and stories are 100% original. ⚠️ There is, in the midst of our quarrels, a strange and wordless easing of the heart, a catharsis that stealeth upon the soul. In such moments a man doth quietly take measure of himself, pondering where he stands and what in this brief life he shall hold most dear, and so, by degrees, he marketh out what manner of man he would be known as before the world. Some contentions there are that ever deserve the field, and some that are best cast upon the shore and left to the mercy of the tide. Yet whensoever thou sayest unto me, “I love thee,” there stealeth from my lips, almost of its own accord, “I love thee more.” To a stranger’s ear it may sound a trifling thing, a childish skirmish of words, a paltry contest where both doubt the other’s depth of feeling while each would vaunt his own. It might seem but a poor and petty way to snatch a hollow victory. Yet there liveth no conceit further from the truth. Thou knowest it, even as the phrase departeth from thy tongue; and I, for my part, do feel the quickening of thy heartbeat, hot and urgent, each time I answer thee so. The cause is simple, yet most hard to utter plain; therefore I set it down that all the world might read, if it so please them. For it passeth the weak compass of my understanding that one such as thou should cast thy love on one such as I. I have wandered through my days as a man without purpose, ambitionless and alone, marred with many a fault. I neither sought nor found redemption, but rather turned my back upon whatever future there might yet have been. I am not fair of face, nor laden with riches or bright prospects, yet thou didst never seem to weigh me in such balances. Among all the small and scattered virtues I did by chance reveal, thou didst discern more than ever I had thought to show. It was my kindness, my poor attempts at affection and steadfast devotion—these, thou saidst, were the things thou lovedst in me: qualities I had scarce considered, like unto a hand that findeth, to its wonder, that it fits another as though fashioned for it from the first. Thou didst not cast thine eye upon my many struggles, but upon the stubborn will that drove me through them, as if the darker parts of me were but shadows, and only the manner of my dealings with thee were worthy to be remembered. What thou perceivest in me is but a faithful mirror of what I behold in thee. The very things thou claimest to love in my nature are the selfsame graces I cherish in thine. Thy kindness, thy tender heart, thy noble virtue—they outstrip my poor wit and tongue, which falter when they would give them shape in words. Thou fillest me with a store of affection that hath no bottom, and to mine eyes thou art perfect, lacking in nothing. Thou shinest upon the blackest nights of my spirit, and settest a smile upon my face where none was before. No earthly pleasure may compare to the swelling of my heart when I behold the quiet glory of thy grace. And so, when darkness draweth nigh and I lie upon my bed, my eyes half closed and my soul warmed to the very core by the thought of thee, thou sayest once more, in utmost truth, that thou lovest me. In that still and sacred moment, beloved, it is then that I do indeed love thee more.