That’s this place that we’ve come to. Although if you think about it, we’ve kinda always been easy. Settling into each other and flowing seemingly seamlessly.
Comfortable is another word I would use to describe this place, but the word has sort of become associated with old, married boring couples, and that we’re not. Boring, that is. And married too. I mean we’re not married. (This isn’t a hint I promise. No, seriously, it isn’t).
But comfortable, indeed, this place is.
I think about the future lately. Most times you’re in it, and some other times you aren’t. That’s another thing about this place; it’s real. Honest.
The times you’re in it are fun as hell. We’re like a super hot power couple, who have come into their own, individually and together, quite nicely. We have the best vacations. You should even see the house we live in. Or my closet. Boy I sure know (knew) (will know) how to spend your money :D
The times you aren’t…
Imagining them always leave me distressed. Even writing this now, I’m getting distressed. I usually imagine what the cause will be. Will you find someone else? Will I? Will we move to different cities and not be able to handle the distance? Will we have a big major fight? Or will shit just not work out? And then I stop wondering because by this point, I’ve worked myself up into a major panic. You know how my mind can get now. Like I’d already see myself sobbing hysterically on the bathroom floor wearing your black jalabia, clutching and sniffing that your polo tee that I have (confiscated) (obtained)…
Lol. I like the realness of this place. There’s no pressure to lie to each other or say things we don’t mean, or not say the things that we do mean.
Like this piece and the entire Return Mail series. I specifically told the other writers not to feel pressured to make it ‘laudable’ because this series wouldn’t be surrounded by excessive publicity and pomp and pageantry. We each wrote for ourselves. And as I write this, I’m glad for that. Because if I were writing for the world, I’d feel the need to find the exact words to make them understand how beautiful this place is. I’d struggle for days, trying to string existing words, and conjure up nonexistent ones, in a bid to transcribe the way my heart is onto paper:
If I say that I love him, will they get how much? Will they even understand what I mean? Will they know that what I’m trying to say is that I see him; all of him in all of his beauty and all of his flaws? What alphabets will be able to express how my heart swells with pride at every “hey babe” and “meet my girlfriend”? Will they know that this place, by his side, in the crook of his arm, is the most beautiful place that I’ve ever been and I don’t want to go anyplace else? That I’m content to be right here? Just right here? What alphabets, words, phrases or sentences will get them to get me?
So you see, I’m glad that I do not have to figure out those perfect words and sentences.
At this moment we’re fighting. Or at least I think we are. Are we? Lol. I don’t know why. Heck, I’m not even sure you do. But it is one of those things couples do, right? We’ll dance this dance until one of us decides they’ve missed the other too much to let our stupid, idiotic pride get in the way. Distracting ourselves with work and other ‘busy’ things won’t work anymore and then the music will change and we’ll dance a new dance; the makeup dance J
It’s Valentine’s Day; my gifts have been delivered. Besides the fact that I was blushing furiously from the reception, all the way up to my floor where the guys in my unit made me want to enter the ground, I love them. Every single one of them. What each gift says to me is that you see me. That you know me. You didn’t just buy cake or chocolate or perfume for your girlfriend because it’s Valentine ’s Day and you kinda have to. No. you saw me and painstakingly picked out beautiful things that would make me smile. That are making me smile.
…you make me smile, please stay for a while now…
Not in a Beyonce-Crazy-In-Love kinda way, uhn uhn. In a Colbie Cailat-Bubbly, Lumineers-Ho Hey kinda way.
…I belong with you, you belong with me…
…You’re my sweethe-a-rt
I don’t know how to end this. My entire being feels so much more. But English fails me, and dwelling on how hbjjshufhvb*(%^&(( this place is, is making me choke up. I started out not wanting this letter be mushy but apparently, I can’t hide it. I’m in a mushy place. I’m always in a mushy place with you. Even when you make me mad, or I make you mad. Even then. Even now. Even always. Even forever.
I may not be able to give you as much as I want to today, but I have the words. I’ve always had the words. And so today, I give you these words, inadequate as they are:
I love you babe.
I love you.
I love you.