You are, in ways that continue to appear as I continue to type, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Let’s see where I get with this.
Firstly, there’s the obvious: The way you smile with kind, genuine eyes. The way your coffee-colored hair seems to envelop me every single time I’m near it. It swarms and blocks out the light, blocks out the noise. Your skin, unbelievably smooth and has a light shine from almost every angle. Those little things. Those are a solid start.
The way your hands tend to find mine when we’re walking, that always impresses me. I don’t know how it works out, but it just clicks. We mentioned that as far back as the first few dates: it just fits. Physically, there’s no awkward tug of war. We’re like two spoons in the silverware drawer, we just kinda fit together by form and by function. You don’t try to one up me, you have a humility that extends far beyond just your own self-image. You approach the world with a sense of timid wonder, like you’re just happy to be here. Happiness, that’s the pin on the head. There we go. Forget all that other stuff, happiness is what I liken to you. You see, I had a friend tell me I didn’t write much anymore. She said I must be happy. She’s right. Funny how my art, struggling and sickly as it usually is, can never bear to see the light of joy. It shrivels when I have a full plate of things that satisfy in a different way. And you, my dear, you feed my hungry soul.
You aren’t just happy. I mean, it’s not just your emotion. You actually exude happy. You create happy from parts of you that aren’t even trying. You make happiness from scratch, even when you’re kind of blue. It’s something my life is not used to, even after two months I feel like one day it’s just not gonna be possible anymore. That’s a sign, my writing would tell me, that I’m taking it in as much as I can. That I’m not taking it for granted.
Writing taught me that when you stop fearing something will leave, you’ve stopped deserving it to stick around. Comfort is stagnant. But you defy that rhetoric. You’re comfortable, you’re sweet, and you take everything and turn it on its head. I’ve been writing since the hormones hit, it became my religion. Diaries and midnight posts became my soul mate and then you showed up out of nowhere and drew back the curtain to the rest of the world. So, yeah, I’m not writing as much. But that’s because I’m getting my fix elsewhere, with a beautiful drug that kisses back.
And I still don’t get my drinks for free, but tell me: is this so bad?
.Steve
