Understand that you are not her first love, that she has made a lifelong pledge to her art. Realize you are just now becoming part of her story, that all her past experiences live on through her words. Pay attention to them.
Take her to Starbucks. Order her a latte. Pretend to read the newspaper while she silently scrawls her thoughts away in her journal. Steal glances at her when you’re sure she isn’t looking. Note how her brow creases, how she bites her lip as she searches for the next word, how she pauses momentarily to take a sip of her drink. Everything is in the details.
Slip her journal under your coat when she gets up for a refill. Read it alone. At night. Just before you fall asleep. Smile when her words smile. Ache when her words ache. Let them sing to you, let them tattoo themselves beneath your skin, let them feel like home.
Return the journal to her the next time you take her out. Slide it across the table and admit you read it. Be sure to catch her reaction. Determine whether she’s angry, flattered. Or don’t. Don’t let her know what you know. Don’t ask her if she’s ever written about you. Casually place the journal inside her purse. Or in her mailbox when you walk her home.
Comfort her when she fears the worst – when the words no longer come to her. Hold her close. Quote her favorite writers. Reassure her that it’s only temporary, that she knows what she’s doing. Remember you are not her first love and first love never fades.
Kiss her hands, even when they are stained with ink.