What I entail when I say,’ I love you.’ Is that every time I look into your eyes I find myself wondering how, and why, and shaking my head in sheer skepticism that things could feel this good. Nothing lasts, and yet here we are. And maybe the truths I held onto before, about the temporary nature of things were really simply dread. Because appearing in your eyes, I’m not afraid.
What I mean when I say,’ I love you.’ Is that the impression in my chest is beyond words. Is that sometimes I can’t speak because I’m silently thanking the universe for the route we bumped into one another that silly little night under the stars. And how was it that all this time before we were stumbling along our own routes, never knowing what we were missing? Then abruptly feeling all our pieces come together by some unconscious, magnetic force–it’s unexplainable, and yet it simply is. You and me and the style our lives have intertwined without us even trying to. Nothing less than an answered prayer.
What I mean when I say,’ I love you.’ Is that there aren’t enough letters in the English speech to construct sentences that explain the magnitude of passion I have for you. That to say,’ forever, ’ or’ infinity, ’ or’ to the moon, ’ simply does not match the wildness in my chest, or the soft consolation in my spirit knowing I’m yours. To carry my heart any different would be to cheapen the emotions, to try to define something genuinely undefinable. So I do the only thing that comes close, and whisper those words into the skin of your collarbone, the curve of your spine, the leading edge of your shoulder blade. Not simply for you to hear, but to feel.
What I entail when I say,’ I love you.’ Is that I cannot imagine a life that exists without your limbs interlocked with mine, or my lips kissing a mouth that is not yours. Is that sometimes I’ll be going through my day, and my mind strays to you, to us, and how even the little things have magnitude–ordering take out, sitting on the pier, strolling the dog around the block, sitting in traffic–and if I could explain the way the mundane takes on new meaning when I’m with you, I would. But there is no way to enunciate the simple beauty of knowing I’m sharing my life with someone–the good, the bad, the ugly, the boring. So I simply say those three terms, praying they’re enough.
What I mean when I say,’ I love you.’ Is that I’ve awaited so damn long to speak my desires to life. That I’ve felt those feelings long before I let them slip past my lips. That when you drunkenly reached for my hand, or laughed and your eyes lingered in mine a few moments too long, or you kissed my forehead without speaking at all–I was already imagining how it would feel to genuinely hold your heart in my hands. There was nothing else in the world I wanted more than that simple, beautiful thing. And now I finally have the words to capture that impression as best I can.
What I entail when I say,’ I love you.’ Is that I am simply ready. To experience the world with you. To oppose ferociously with you. To close my eyes and lean back and take whatever comes on this journey together. To live with our demons and learn how to build them balance and play nice. To willingly devote all that I am to you, without a few moments of doubt. To choose you, forever.
What I entail when I say,’ I love you.’ Is that I’m here to bides.
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