My sweet bird. I know love letters are old fashioned, but they are perfect for sharing feelings when there is no expectation of reciprocity. I am writing this to you, but for myself, to breathe freely and be released from the fear of you never knowing how thankful I am for you.
And that underneath the deliberate calmness of our contractually concocted place- my heart is bewildered; as idle as the wind, and as wild as a lioness. Its pulse is seemingly conscious of nothing but you. My veins course with the sense of life you brought back to my being. You made happiness plausible again. When I smile and people ask me why, I shrug. But it's because of you that feeling has returned to me.
Your firmness of stride and thought turn me on. The way you touch me makes me feel like Cleopatra. It's hilarious and tragic that you think your music taste is better than mine. Watching you expose your insecurities by trying to hide them provokes my fierce desire to protect you like no other woman can. Your body is an incredible aphrodisiac. It's awesome that you love shoe shopping as much as I do. When you feed me, I understand nourishment. I am indebted to the strength that folds into your shoulders and shields me from coldness in the world. I especially revel in your bad jokes and boyish affections (even unsolicited piggy back rides).
I don't enjoy how irritable you are when small shit goes awry. Sometimes you talk too much. Your eagerness to prove that you don't need me is immature. The worst is your stupid defensive scrabble strategy and the fact that it mirrors your love life, blocking me at every turn. I already hate that I am not suffering more in your absence because we kept the soft, messy things about ourselves protected from each other. We both have a lot of flaws, but since my life will be longer because you harassed (motivated?) me to quit smoking, I'll forgive you and ask that you do the same. Because ultimately, every place and time has been better, soaked in that elusive, stunning, handsomeness about you.
So were we out of our goddamn minds? How could an idea this bad feel so wonderful? How come we never played 20 questions? Why does this shit always happen with us?!
I guess now life goes on, sometimes mundane and other times extraordinary. We‚Äöll both work and laugh and think of each other when we listen to npr or get parking tickets (too soon?). And each of us will make plans and memories and love with other people.
Fate is sadistic. But I'll still know you and think we belong together.
With immense love and gratitude,
love letter collection
1:48 PM EST
Wednesday, February 1, 2012