This is the end of the second love letter I've ever written to you.
The first one was saying goodbye.
This one is saying hello to the rest of my life with you.
I want to grow old with you.
I want years and years by your side.
I want to love you as best I can, as strongly as I can, until we don't even have to say the jokes because we already know what they're going to be.
Happy Valentine's Day.
I love you. Always.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Conversations At Night: Part II
Read to me?
Are you sure?
I could listen to you read for hours.
I could read to you for hours.
Are you sure?
I could listen to you read for hours.
I could read to you for hours.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Things That I Love About You: Part III
You can finish my sentences. And I can finish yours. Let's pause for a moment. This... astounds me. You're completely in sync with my thoughts. You know where I'm going to go. And the times where I'm grappling for the right word or conclusion, and then you chime right in... well... they're just a testament to how well we know each other. Butterfootiebabycrack.
You are possibly the best big spoon on this planet. You're soft. And you're warm. And the curve of your body fits perfectly against me.
You have such an incredible, enviable knowledge of random facts. You pull them out at random moments, and I'm continually amazed and impressed by the things that you retain. I love the unique references that you throw into conversations.
You may grapple with the fact that you never finished college, but regardless, you're still one of the smartest people that I know.
The way you love me.
You are possibly the best big spoon on this planet. You're soft. And you're warm. And the curve of your body fits perfectly against me.
You have such an incredible, enviable knowledge of random facts. You pull them out at random moments, and I'm continually amazed and impressed by the things that you retain. I love the unique references that you throw into conversations.
You may grapple with the fact that you never finished college, but regardless, you're still one of the smartest people that I know.
The way you love me.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Love Letter: Part II
This is it. Here. Now. This is what we've come to.
Four months. Three weeks. One day.
This is us:
You. Me. Partners. Lovers. One. Us. One.
It's the middle of Central Square and it's so cold that I have to hold my mittens over my ears and I've called you to come meet me. I look up, and you're there, suddenly, perfectly, here, now, with me. It's a Sunday night and we're walking from the parking lot behind your house and we're navigating the treacherous icy spots but regardless of how off-balance you are and how much you slip, you still hold my hand. It's a Saturday, 6 pm, and we're in your bathtub, limbs at odd angles, barely fitting together, but we do somehow and we're soapy and laughing and your chest is against my shoulders, your perfect, slippery skin pressed against me.
You know how I like my coffee. I know where to tickle you. You've met my book club. I've seen your baby pictures. I know you like your soup chunky, that you mostly prefer red wine, that you think slasher movies are funny. You know where I like my feet rubbed, the songs that I like to sing, how much I love my sister, and the history of my traffic violations.
But more, you know the curve of my back. I know the snugness of your arms. You know the way I throw my head back when I laugh, and I know where to kiss your lids when your eyes are full.
This is you. This is me. Us.
Perfect.
Four months. Three weeks. One day.
This is us:
You. Me. Partners. Lovers. One. Us. One.
It's the middle of Central Square and it's so cold that I have to hold my mittens over my ears and I've called you to come meet me. I look up, and you're there, suddenly, perfectly, here, now, with me. It's a Sunday night and we're walking from the parking lot behind your house and we're navigating the treacherous icy spots but regardless of how off-balance you are and how much you slip, you still hold my hand. It's a Saturday, 6 pm, and we're in your bathtub, limbs at odd angles, barely fitting together, but we do somehow and we're soapy and laughing and your chest is against my shoulders, your perfect, slippery skin pressed against me.
You know how I like my coffee. I know where to tickle you. You've met my book club. I've seen your baby pictures. I know you like your soup chunky, that you mostly prefer red wine, that you think slasher movies are funny. You know where I like my feet rubbed, the songs that I like to sing, how much I love my sister, and the history of my traffic violations.
But more, you know the curve of my back. I know the snugness of your arms. You know the way I throw my head back when I laugh, and I know where to kiss your lids when your eyes are full.
This is you. This is me. Us.
Perfect.
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