This is how I wanted to love you.
I wanted to love you in moments spent alone–when the air was full of sweat, our bodies lying next to each other. The only thing you hear is my breath, in and out. My chest rises and falls with yours. I feel your fingers trace up and down my spine. No words are exchanged here, just our energy twirling and dancing about. I wanted to love you in this moment. Our sweaty, breathless, moment spent in between the sheets.
I wanted to love you in the car. We’d have the windows down and we’d be driving down the road, Jack Johnson blaring in the background. Your hand would be rested on my thigh, and I’d be giggling at the new lyrics you made up to “Banana Pancakes”, your silly spirit would make me smile. My love for you would be shining out of my face like sun rays in this moment.
I’d love you even when I hated you—in moments where I could taste my own anger. It would be 2 am, I’d be cursing your name because of a stupid mistake you made, and I can’t go to sleep angry so we’d hash it out until I was done. You’d let me yell because you know it will make me feel better.
Through all the silly tears and raised voices, I would love you.
My love for you was the loudest on Sunday Mornings. We’d eat leftover blueberry pancakes together as we sit on the couch we got from your Great Aunt (it would still smell like her perfume) and somehow we’d end up taking a nap there together later that day. I’d love our cuddles. I’d be up first and wake you up with my kisses.
My love for you would be loud in the simple moments, the quiet moments.
But most of all, I wanted to love you in the moments when you loved me. The moments when I’d lock my keys in my car and you’d have to drive all the way from the other side of town to rescue me. You’d love me in the grocery store, when we’d be living penny to penny but I BEGGED you to get the name-brand cheese because it’s so much better than the cheap stuff. You’d love me when I’m being stubborn and impossible. You’d feel your love for me when we’re going to sleep, and I lean over and kiss you goodnight for the fourth time. I’d just love kissing you. You’d secretly love me when I ask if we can get sushi (again) for dinner. You’d love me when I insist on watching Grey’s Anatomy instead of the Walking Dead (for the third night in a row).
You’d love me, and I’d love you just the same. Our love wouldn’t always be sunshine and kisses in bed, it would be messy, trying at times—but it would be imperfectly perfect.
It would be ours.
That’s how I wanted to love you. Instead—I lost you. We lost each other.
That’s okay, however, I’ll save this for another love. A greater love. A deserving love.