the_kiss_gustav_klimt_courtesy_of_wikiart


1. A confession: I make lists of what we might fight about (don’t worry, this is not that kind of list). I’m terrified of the inevitable mistakes, hurt, poisonous words. I can (and frequently do) imagine several lifetimes’ worth of failures and heartbreak, and it’s almost enough to make me want to run far, far away.

2. I find myself watching you: but then, you look at me. You grab my fingers or wrap your arms around me. You tell me something about yourself — a thought that makes me marvel at what your eyes observe, at the wiring of your brain, at the way you see the world. You tell me something about me that I didn’t even know and you’re excited by the act of knowing someone.

3. Me watching you watching me: I laugh, delighted, and you smile at me. You have this surprised look on your face, and I laugh again.

4. Another confession: You know, I had an idea of the person I would fall for, the perfect boyfriend. And you’re not him. And maybe that’s not good, but it’s good for me. Because you don’t fit into my plans (semester, five-year, life, any of them), but you keep me guessing, intrigued, curious.

5. Sometimes there's logic: And sometimes it doesn’t make sense, but it works. And I like to know you and you like to know me, but we’ve never known this nameless familiarity, the feeling of being home. I get to learn more about you every day and marvel at the roots of ourselves that we have in common, and it is a goddamn privilege to know you and to be known by you.

6. You asked me once if I had butterflies in my stomach: I don’t. I don’t have the “feeling”: the little flutters of liking someone. There’s no trepidation or jitteriness or jaggedness here. No, I feel a quiet kind of happy — a happiness thick like honey, sinking deep into my bones, all the way to the center of me. It's like when I’m with you, the world can wait, because everything is OK.

7. Words: I write about you in my journal. A lot, right next to words like laughing, talking, exploring, asking, not counting.

8. Little stolen moments with you (stolen not because they’re not ours by right, but because they sneak up on me — these precious seconds that I lock away and relive and remember): I don’t know how much you remember of that night. Nose to nose. My hair slipping between our faces. Your hands, urgent, around my waist. I whispered in your left ear, why do you know me so well? You replied, because we’re us.

9. It's typical: Two minutes later, you fell asleep sitting upright, me still on your lap, your face held between my hands (it was 5 a.m., but everything was OK).

10. Us: I just like to spend time with you, too.

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