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.