He overwhelmingly felt like home. It was the way he held me, the way his heart beat against my back when we laid down together, the way he reached out for me in his sleep and the way he smiled at me like I was some kind of miracle.
It was the way time flew when I was with him at an agonizingly fast rate because I dreaded leaving him. It was the way gravity pulled him and me together in the way magnets do metal.
He was everything I thought never could exist outside of a book or movie. He wasn’t as perfect or romantic as characters from movies, but love is more than these huge romantic gestures. Love is laughing over stupid jokes on candy wrappers together. It’s play fighting on the bed. Love is mocking each other and kissing afterward and your heart pounding when you realize how beautiful they are.
He was destined to struggle with me, and laugh with me, and cry with me, and grow old with me. He was everything to me and there was never anything I was more sure about.
I felt like he put me on a pedestal and loved me with every ounce of himself. He was always meant to be my home, to be my end, to be my security and to be my hope. He was my future and I loved him every day for that. He was an opportunity and passion and motivation. He was my air and I was his.
Even when we fought or lied, we still loved each other because we were human and we understood it was human nature to mess up and to make things messy sometimes. We also understood we needed to learn from our mistakes because we wanted to be our best selves for each other.
We knew that love was beautiful and complex, but we also understood that love wasn’t easy. We made it a point to not complicate it even more because we had to work. We knew there was no “him” and “I,” there was only “us.”
That’s all we ever needed. Each other.