I love the way you move. And not just the way you walk, your hand intertwined tightly with mine, but the way you step forward when you’re in the middle of a story, almost as if your body is carrying you unconsciously. I love the way you pull me with you, not by force, but with your passion. Guiding me, guiding us. I love the way you grab my body and pull me close to you. Not just a simple kiss, but an entire movement. Our lips, our hips, our shoulders, our toes touching. Becoming one.
You make me feel. And I don’t know why I hesitate. I don’t know why I shy away from explaining the way our first kiss of the night always feels like an electric shock. Maybe I’m worried it’ll sound too good, too cliché. Maybe I’m honestly just hesitant because I haven’t felt this way about someone in so long. Maybe it’s a combination of the wine and the way your smile makes the corners of my mouth turn up. But you make my soul buzz. And honestly, I don’t want this feeling to fade.
I’m scared. I’m scared of what can happen from this moment forward. I’m scared of how life will play out and pull us farther from each other, no matter how hard we try to hold on.
I’m scared of the unknown. Scared of the way you feel so comfortable, and how this has the potential to destroy me. I’m scared to tell you that I’m scared, though, because I don’t want you to run. I want you to stay.
When I roll over and you’re still asleep, I think about all the life you’ve lived without me—the world you’ve grown up in, the path you’ve walked, the story you’ve written. And I wonder whether I’ll be a sentence or a major character, a line or a chapter. I wonder if I’ll get to grace your pages, write my tale alongside yours.
My favorite thing about you is the way you love other people. The way you talk to strangers, pet dogs, smile at children. I guess, in some way, when I see your emotions for everyone else, it makes my heart full. It makes me see how genuine you are, how much passion you have to give. And even if I have to share you, I’m content. Because I know that heart of yours is real.
I see it—us laughing in a little kitchen of the apartment we bought together. Us celebrating a new year, our fifth, eight, seventeenth together. Us falling into each other and somehow, despite all the crazy odds, it working out. I see it.