You still give me butterflies. Thank you for those. You physically affect me every single day, and more still as time goes on. How could I ever tire of the feelings that you give me? And you know what? It’s when you’re not trying that I feel them the most. Those moments when you do some small thing, laugh, or say some word that I think sounds funny, even a ‘hello’ and I melt. Don’t ever underestimate how alive you make me feel in every possible way.
It’s the little things you do that make all the difference in the world. Consistency. It’s asking me how I slept, how my day was, checking to make sure I’m taking care of myself, asking if I’m just generally okay. Going out of your way every day to make sure that I feel loved and cared about no matter what kind of mood I’m in. You know exactly what to say to make me smile or laugh even when I don’t want to. You try so hard every single day and I do notice and I do appreciate it all. I love you and your little things more than you know.
Because … peanut butter.
I dream about living in some house somewhere with you, some place that has a big porch out front and maybe out back too. I want to hang laundry on the line while you slave over the lawns that you complain about every time you have to do them and grumble about whose stupid idea was it to live in a house with so many lawns anyway? And when you’re done doing those lawns, I’ll run you a bath and sit in that thing with you and rub your back and shoulders while you soak your poor aching bones; and I’ll do a really shitty job of it because I’m bad at massages but you’ll tell me that they’re the best thing in the world and nothing makes you feel better like my hands do on you.
And then we’ll go outside and I’ll sit on a seat in that yard that you made look so great while you cook barbecue and we’ll stay out there and eat together and we’ll have to go inside eventually because it gets too cold or starts to get dark. And then I’ll complain about doing the dishes as much as you complained about having to mow the lawns so you’ll do those dishes with me in that kitchen of ours and I’ll flick you with water and you’ll whip me with the dish towel and we’ll laugh and we’ll forget what we were there for in the first place.
When we’re done, we’ll go and sit in front of the TV even though it’s getting late and there’s nothing but infomercials on or some old overly cheesy 80’s movie and it won’t matter because we’ll be curled up together on that comfy old couch together holding hands or leaning on each other and that’s the part we’ll be there for anyway, just to be close to one another because there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.
After we’ve both yawned our way through a couple of hours of pointless television, we’ll go to bed and I’ll curl up into your side while you lie there on your back staring at the ceiling and we’ll talk about something that doesn’t even make a lot of sense but it’ll be mostly you doing the talking and me smiling and giggling because we do that when we’re tired. You ramble and I get the giggles and eventually, I’ll start to feel sleepy, but right before I close my eyes you’ll tell me how much you love me and I’ll tell you the same and you’ll say you love me more and on it will go because there’s no beating you in that argument, so I let you win because silently I know that I love you more anyway. And after you’re asleep and I hear only the sound of you breathing and the rain outside falling on the roof, I’ll be reminded that this is where I’ve always wanted to be, home.
All of the cutesy nicknames you have for me. You are adorable.
Because I don’t just love you, I like the fuck out of you too, a lot, as a person. And there are very few people, as you know, that I actually genuinely like. And I like you the most. You’re my favorite.
Because I want to write stories with you, all of them, for the rest of my days. I want to discover you, discover us, word by word, sentence by beautifully written sentence, page by wondrous page. I want to write histories and futures as they unfold to fill book upon book with tales of happily ever after because for the first time in all of my days, I believe there is such a thing.