It was cold late-January night. We were making our usual run to Taco Bell. Typical.
“So guess what?” you said from the passenger’s seat.
“What?” I responded as I squinted through the falling snow.
“I’m moving to Colorado,” you said. “In a few weeks.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I smiled. And I was.
I was so excited for you. But I was also sad. You were one of my very best friends and you were leaving.
And so we spent our night getting drunk on apple pie whiskey (gross) on my kitchen floor, reminiscing about life and talking about the future.
We fell asleep to Finding Nemo. That’s our movie. You were the first to fall asleep. You gently and sleepily kissed my shoulder. One, two, three. You planted three tiny kisses on my shoulder. Your beard grazed my neck and I shuddered, because it tickled.
Then you giggled. Did you know you did that? You giggle in your sleep and you’re the only person I’ve ever met who has done that.
You mumbled a few things in your sleep, too, but I don’t remember what. As you slept, I laid there awake next to you, your hands absent-mindedly grazing my side every now and then, sometimes resting on my stomach. I laid there, taking in your presence and appreciating it, not knowing how much time I had left with you before you left.
When morning came, I rolled over and saw you there. Sleeping peacefully as the light hit your face. I remember studying your sleeping face and thinking how perfect it was.
And that was the moment I knew. That was the moment I knew that I wanted to wake up next to you every morning. When I knew that you were the one I always wanted to get drunk off my ass with, the one I wanted to cry with, and the one I wanted to be happy with. I knew that I always wanted to share everything with you. That was the moment that I knew that I loved you.
I took a shower and tried to clear my head as you slept in my bed, and then I made you a shitty breakfast that probably tasted awful because I can’t cook and only pretend to know how. And you ate it anyway without a single complaint because you’re kind and polite and that’s how your mother raised you.
And then you left. And I cried. I cried because I loved you, and this was new to me. I cried because I didn’t know what to do. And I cried because I didn’t know that I was about to spend the next six months trying to convince myself that I didn’t love you.
But I do. It’s been six months and I still love you.
I haven’t told you yet, and I’m not sure if I will. Part of me hopes that you’ll stumble upon this on your own and you’ll just know.
And so there you have it…that is the moment that I fell in love with you. I love you, and I probably will love you for a long time.