When I first saw you, I'm like "Aw shit, goddamit look what God did. Hail Mary Jesus!"

And if your life truly flashes in front of you, when you die 
Just know the best time of my life has been loving you.
I love you, you know.



I tried to write down how I loved you, and why I loved you, and why you are better than anything I could have imagined for myself. I tried to describe the curve of your shoulder, the warmth of your breath, the smoothness of your skin. You escape any attempts I have in pinning you down in a page, in my impossible mission of words to say: There. There it is. One more dimension of love. One more way it exists, and I never even knew. 

They settled down for the night in his small, undersized, twin bed. She closed her eyes and let exhaustion wash over her. Next, the sensations. The weight of the blanket. The warmth of his body. The breeze on her toes, peeking out rebelliously from the blankets. Then, a loving hand combing through her hair. Eyes fluttered open to her favorite face, struggling to keep his sweet eyes open in the soft glow of the lamplight. It was one of their last nights together before the trip. A trip. Separation. Soft smiles and a kiss goodnight. Hands, arms curled around one another, they slept.


The way you move is so beautiful. There is unexpected grace in your hands and the tilt of your chin. 
There is monumental strength in your character. Because of your stark, utter lack of sentimentality and romance, your words only ring true. No sly, sleek, empty words meant to only make me happy. You mean it.
The patience and awareness of our differences. You comprehend what I do not, see what I can not. 

You are better than anything I could have imagined for myself.

Wrapped up in the universe

Bare feet padding across the room, she came to say goodnight. Tall as she was, the blanket, an inaccurate depiction of the sun, still dragged across the carpet while enveloping her. Without invitation and fear of rejection, she tucked herself into his lap, to have his arms automatically hold her. A peck on the cheek, and a kiss in her hair, he gently sent her off to bed.

But before that, he held her, and it satisfied.

overheard from the living room

"I once knew this judge. This girl was so black..."

"....Can she say that?"

&

"Hey! Don't hate on the gay."

"No one can break your heart, so break it yourself"

Andrew Bird's Eyeoneye

"Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy." Guillaume Apollinaire

Nudging you awake, asking if you needed anything. Taking one last deep breath of slumber, you replied. I gathered up what you wanted and brought it back: The Lorax, Thin Mints, and milk. With sleepy eyes you glanced at me, smiled, and closed them again. Balancing everything, I crawled beneath your furry blanket of the sun and the stars. Listened to the spine crack of the new book, dipped Thin Mints into milk, and waited. You pulled me close and started reading. We took turns, flipping pages, admiring the simplistic art, and making voices.

What a Sunday morning it was.

Don't you climb down, darling

Lately, I've been feeling hopeful. And incredulous.

I mean, shouldn't I be more unhappy? But I'm not, and it's quite pleasant, really. Even if the world is falling down around my ears, I still have some things. Strong coffee, freshly baked cookes, and a lumpy bed to lie on.

Life is getting sloppy and delicious and dangerously fun.

My inability to rationally deal with my feelings leads to them often sweating out of my eyes, and my birthday was a beautiful, humbling surprise with my loved ones, feeling exhausted and looking like I earned those bags under my sleepy eyes. My Friday nap on the rocky shore of the lake, between roaring our cheers for our bears. My Sunday morning (and every morning) companion with me at Disneyland, squeezing me close beneath the kaleidoscopic lights and spray, carelessly laughing and belting out the best. A peek into your life: tip-toeing around creaky wood floors, messy chili burgers at midnight, the view of LA at night, and falling asleep with your hand in mine. A midday race to beat the bus, sprinting and leaping out of cars, screaming and yelling with the girls. Resting in my own bed, but a snuck-in smell of you with me. Movie-hopping terror and belting out Beauty and the Beast on repeat.

Annual

For my birthday, I think I would like to take a family photo again, or have birthday cards... or to have people send me their favorite photo of themselves, happy and smiling.

Note: I said it. He said it back. He loves me!

Thanks

For pulling me close, tucking me under your chin, and kissing my head, all while driving manual with one hand to keep the other arm around me.

'Cause I was really hungover.

Won't fade in time

Whale you be my valentine?

"You know why I did all this for you, right?" Guitar in hand, cheeky grin, and a wink.

"Because..." with a drawl.

"You are my sunshine, you are my sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

So don't take my sunshine away."

"Okay, that's all you get. It's crappy."

Ah, but I love you anyway.

I am growing. First, knowing what you want, then asking for it are things I'm learning to do. It's hard. But thank you for the flowers, balloons, and book, darlin'.

Toothpaste.

I miss you already.

I think a part of why I feel sad is that I'm not quite sure I'm wanted anywhere. SJ is ambivalent about having me home, and ever since that talk, I think I long for a place to call home again.

So maybe I miss you, or maybe I miss being able to hop into bed and cuddling with someone who loves me. And that's not boy-specific.

At least I nabbed my favorite toothbrush from your place before you left.

My Imagination is running away from me

Up in her room, she hears the sound of his car honking outside. Peeking through her window to confirm, she grabs her things to rush out the door and into the night with him.

This feels like high school all over again.

You are by far my most favorite

John Steinbeck on Falling in Love

New York
November 10, 1958

Dear Thom:

We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.

First — if you are in love — that’s a good thing — that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second — There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you — of kindness and consideration and respect — not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply — of course it isn’t puppy love.

But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it — and that I can tell you.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.

The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.

If you love someone — there is no possible harm in saying so — only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.

Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.

It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another — but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.

Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.

We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.

And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

Love,

Fa

Well, tell her I miss our little talks

I am as constant as the north star. Constant in the darkness, where's that at?

He bought me roses from a liquor store and offered them on bended knee, in the Mission after leaving the club. "Do... Do you... do you love me?" eyes downcast. "....No, no. That question isn't fair."Plucking a rose from the bunch of pretty young things, he said that we were just like the one in his hands. That we could choose to nip it in the bud, because it would die eventually. "But," twirling the lone bud in his hands, "I think it's beautiful the way it is."

"I could drink a case of you, darling"

Level

"Don't look so far off the cliff you fall off."

The way many of my friends and I think (especially the engineers) is in preventative measures. Don't fail a test by studying. Don't get burned by wearing gloves. Use a helmet so you get to keep those nice brains of yours. Don't get in relationships because of the inevitable fall.

That line of thinking eventually produces a certain lack of commitment to perceived risk. I have done almost everything I could to reasonably ensure I won't get hurt. Or clubbed in the side of the head. I got good at recognizing when you dodged a question or avoided a straightforward answer. I notice when you distract me. Redirect. Like a magician. You're a womanizer. You're ambitious. Relationships aren't your thing. And to me, that's okay. I don't want to be the center of your world. I don't want you to solve all my problems. I don't need a hero. I don't need a boyfriend. I don't need to be accountable to anyone. I don't need to take care of anyone else. You suit me just fine. You treat me wonderfully. I can live with a relationship like this. Freely given and (assumed) unnoticed.

But then you pulled me against you, leaning against the mismatched brick on Euclid. You cried as you told me you loved me. I asked you if it was a line (I not so good at this stuff). You said you'd never told anyone that before.

" I like you so much, no, I love you so much....I never tried to pull any tricks with you. I just was myself and you still liked me. You liked me for me, and no other girl's done that before. And that's why I love you"

You don't remember any of that, but I do. So I will remember and record, and tuck away those memories of a chilly January evening smiling foolishly at you and salsa dancing across the alcohol stained dance floor to electronica beneath the black lights of Casa Zimbabwe, sneaking kisses between spins. Of wiping your face and telling you that you knew I loved you in the yellow light of sodium vapor . "I know." I'll remember it all. The roughness of your hair. The silkiness of your jacket. The way your eyelashes spiked when wet. The catch and rumble in your voice.

Maybe one day we'll both find the courage the voice the I love you's in the daytime. The truth is, I think we both know. It's there in the "Good Morning's" and "sweet dreams", in the gentle censure of my bad behavior, in telling me to remember and eat before school (did you buy those oranges for me?), in shopping at Target together, in tag-team pb&j sandwich making for me, in the silence. Shouldn't that be where it is, anyway? It's odd that that would be the only way I could receive love now. I would mistrust any proof-less, showy declaration of love and affection. This is perfect.

But now, I am afraid. MW was right, per usual. I'm standing on a very tall cliff looking down, and this weekend it just got a lot higher. Terrifying. I always thought that whether something was said was irrelevant if you already knew it to be true, but maybe I don't know at all. I can hear the wind whistling, and I want to fold whatever I have left of myself around me and draw it away from anything that'll leave me vulnerable.

Ah, shit. I'm screwed.

"It's so obvious you two love each other, it makes me want to vomit. When I first met him, I knew he was a guy that would be very hard to get close to, but you did it."