we are unusual and tragic and alive

I woke up to the smell of rain today, the sound of it beating against the window and your arms wrapped tightly around my waist. Felt your warm, steady breath against my shoulder as you slept soundly, pulled the blanket over you to keep you warm. These last few months have sped by like a runaway train and soon, it’ll be summer again- mosquito bites on my bare legs and bonfires well into the night and sun screen applied over our freckled noses. My life is panning out like I never would’ve believed possible until you took my hand and led me in the right direction. Thank you for these constant smiles, for giving me butterflies, for our limbs tangled together in the dark. Thank you for being mine.

I read some words last night that made me cry- not because I was sad, but because they were beautiful, because I could relate to the waxed romance of it all, the feeling of my heart swelling in my chest at every touch. I don’t know when I fell in love, can’t place the exact moment, but my head’s been spinning and it’s been difficult to keep my balance ever since my blue-eyed boy pressed his lips against mine for the first time last summer. I don’t know when I fell in love, but I know what it’s like now, the sometimes overwhelming intensity of undressing in the dark, of snapping pictures of moments I don’t want to end, of compliments that make me blush and turn my head away and smile in spite of myself. When I wake up in the morning tangled against his limbs, I wonder if there could possibly be anything better than sharing body warmth in the early morning hours, curled into each other like nothing else matters. I wish I could open my mouth and say those three words, blurt them out and let him know that my feelings for him are not just intense caring and fondness, but actual love, the way you feel when you know your days on this earth are numbered and you can’t imagine spending them with anyone else.

A long time ago, you watched me walk across a stage to collect my high school diploma. On the ride to the after-party, you wore my graduation cap while you drove and I fixed my tear-ruined makeup in the pull-down mirror, careful with my eyeliner over bumps and swerves around corners. We spent the entire night sitting out on the deck, wringing our hands together, overwhelmed by the future.

Not as long ago, we sat in a restaurant holding hands beneath the table as you told me about your latest breakup. The waitress kicked us out at closing, shooing us into the cold night air. We were never any good at keeping track of time when we were together, never paid any attention to anything but each other.

A year ago, I bought a dress and you bought a tux and we spent the night on the dance floor, doing the robot and other silly dance moves, pressing up close to each other, slow dancing. This was the night I became well acquainted with your hips. On the balcony, I thought you might kiss me, but instead you held me tight and told me that I meant so much to you. I carried my heels, barefoot, back to the car and fell asleep on the drive home.

Last summer, you saw me cry and wiped the tears from my cheeks and bought me a gorgeous bouquet of flowers to make me smile. I was laughing through tears when you finally closed the gap between us and kissed me for the first time, making my head spin. It hasn’t stopped spinning since.