That the freckles in our eyes are mirror images…

Dedicating myself to just the idea of beginning to type words in this space is more of an “I know I should” than an “I will” most of the time.  I thought I’d write this first time in the second person (thank you grammar school) to someone I am used to speaking to with great ease.

I am sitting across from you.  It’s the first time you’ve picked up your guitar in, well, too long.  To start, many people seem to know us or know about us.  They like us.  Some more than others.  I think most like our relationship better than they like me.  Maybe sometimes, although I’m happy with just us–just us knowing and thinking about us, just us loving–I wonder, what if these people knew?  What if they knew just a bit more.  Right now is one of those times that occurs only every so often where I find myself falling in love–again.  You don’t know yet, but I’m recording you as you play.  It’s an intro to a version of “Such Great Heights” by Landon Austin.  You are frustrated, but I’m not noticing that.  Sometimes I am looking at your furrowed brow, sometimes I find my gaze drift toward your hands and especially your reddening fingertips.

We’ve been together for over two and a half years.  And to say I am amazed is an understatement on so many levels.  To speak to solely this moment, though.  This is one of those oddly cinematic moments where you, unbeknownst to me, perform some sort of magic.  This time you are emitting that magic from your fingertips right to the core of me and then back out again to my eyes which can’t seem to look away.  Now, I know we joked, in light of our sass-a-frassing, shared sense of non-conformism, for the first month or so of dating that we hated one another, couldn’t wait to get out of the relationship, what have you.  But, now, though I still delight in our mindless banter and feigned disdain for the other, I find myself having to contain my ratting insides from becoming too excited, even still, when you look at me.

Maybe I never thought men to be redeemable.  You know, I’ve told you I once felt that way.  But because of the previous examples I’d had, you still, to this day, seem unreal to me.  Thank you.


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