Sometimes I get really frustrated… because I like you so much more than I planned to.
I never meant to get this attached. We were friends, you know. I thought you were cute, sure. I’ve always thought you were really good looking. But I had no clue we would fall in love.
We actually clashed a bit when we first met. Warred until we became friends.
But it took me an awfully long time to understand that we had a lot in common, although no one would mix us up. We’re so similar in all the ways that count. Deviate from one another in ways that are complementary and interesting.
But I didn’t see that then. And neither did you.
And instead we orbited around one another, taking a long time to realize what would one day become obvious and unforgettable.
It should be a happy ending… and it kind of is…
But it’s also terrifying. Because I hate how attached to you I am. How hard it would be for me to walk away. Not that you’ve given me a compelling reason. But I can’t help but feel oddly vulnerable and scared.
Especially at night… when you reach over at me and put one of your hands on my back, wordlessly saying, “Here I am. I love you. You’re safe,” in a way that only your hands can do.
It’s at times like those when I’m acutely aware that you’re irreplaceable. That I’m not nearly as independent as other people think I am. That there’s something I’d miss terribly — acutely — for years… if and when you leave me (whether by your choice, mine, or because of mortality).
Ugh. There’s no getting past it. I hate how much I’d miss you if we couldn’t be together anymore.
But there’s nothing for it. The best I can do is accept it but not let it ruin this beautiful present we have together — regardless of how long it lasts.