I want to tell you that every thought you have is radiant. I want to tell you that I could text message you forever. I want to tell you that if we suddenly found ourselves stranded on a deserted island for the rest of eternity I would secretly rejoice; finally there are no interruptions in getting to know you. I want to tell you that every word you utter is perfect, that you have the most amazing mind, the most buoyant and fierce voice I’ve encountered in my life. I want to tell you that you are absolute perfection.
I want to tell you that your body and your smile and your bones and that kind look in your eyes are transcendent. I want to tell you that your physicality oozes of supernaturalness, that you and only you make me feel high and otherworldly. As my face turns red in embarrassment of admiration, I want to confess to you that I have spent hours looking at a single photo of you. I want to tell you that even if I was blind I would be endlessly fascinated by the contours of your body, the topography of your skin. I want tell you how much I want you, how my desire for you infinitely extends into the sky.
I want to tell you that you make me more happy than happy. I want to tell you how special this relationship is, how blessed I feel to see your face before I fall asleep and when I wake every morning. I want to tell you that what we have is beyond anything any other couple has, because it is; who else can be as lucky as us? Who else has this much fun? This much pleasure? Who else laughs the way we laugh? Who else could ever be this intimate, this in love? Only us. I want to tell you that this can’t be real life because people aren’t designed to be as happy as us.
I want to tell you how I wake up in the middle of the night, my eyes full of adrenaline, thinking about escape plans from you. I want to tell you in my most sober of sober voices how much I have grown to loathe you. I want to tell you how contrived and flat your thinking is. I want to tell you that you have given up on yourself and that I have given up on you. I want to tell you this is the end.
I want to tell you how the wallpaper of our relationship is painted with white lies. I want to tell you the lies, savoring each revelatory blow. I want to tell you yes I do think you are basic. I want to tell you yes I do notice you are aging. I want to tell you yes I do notice that cellulite. I want to tell you yes I do go out of my way to find excuses to come home later. I want to tell you yes I do fantasize about other people while we are fucking, that I dream of any array of other woman. I want to tell you yes I’ve been ready for years to leave you.
I want to tell you how thoroughly done I am with you. I want to reinforce all your worst insecurities because your insecurities stem from a real place. I want to tell you how flawed you are. I want tell you there is nothing you could have done because you being you is the problem. I want to tell you that your touch now gives me rashes. I want to confess to you the depth of my maliciousness, the texture that is my unique mark of hatred and evilness towards the world. This house we have built together — I want to burn it down and take nothing from it as I run outside and the whole structure scorches with flames.
And while I stand there, looking at your uncanny eyes, I want time to stop so I can explain all of this to you, I want so badly to have the time to make sense of all this for your benefit and mine, to wrestle the knots of love. But time doesn’t stop, it propels forward faster and faster, and all I’m saying right now are scripted lines crescendoing in “I do” and a roaring applause from all our friends and family.