I don’t think I realized how much you mean to me, how much you’ve changed me and how much I’ve changed you, until recently.
We were so caught up in our fear of commitment, in painful memories, that we forgot to enjoy the presence we were sharing.
We were afraid of love, let’s be honest with each other. You were afraid that I’d cheat and I was afraid you would walk away the moment I showed you any emotion.
But what makes my heart burst with happiness is that we’re done with that. I love how my face is grinning when I see you. And I love the proud look on yours when you see that.
I love how you’re surprised when I say that I love the way you look in blue. How you’re surprised when I say that I enjoyed your pasta.
It’s like you’re wondering how that could be. It’s like you don’t think you’re good enough, you’re good-looking enough or manly enough when you cook.
But until my last breath, I’ll make sure to show you how amazing you are. I’ll make sure that putting a smile on that face of yours is the first thing I do in the morning and the last one before we go to bed.
I love how you make me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman who ever lived. We both know I’m not, but you make me feel like I am.
You love my weird nose, my big ears and stretch marks. You even love me when I’m drowning myself in beer and burgers, watching me like I’m some kind of a masterpiece.
You love me when I’m wearing cartoon underwear, even though you low-key hate it. You love me regardless of how I feel, how I look, and if that’s not real love, I don’t know what is.
I love how you frighten me. With your strong arms that can keep me safe from the storms of life. With your smile that can chase away even the toughest clouds out there.
With your love, so big, so intense, that I’m afraid I’ll get lost in it. That I’m afraid that once you leave, I won’t survive it.
But you know what? Screw that. Screw fears. I want to live the rest of my life with you. I want to annoy you, I want to sing you stupid songs and watch games with you.
I want us to travel the world and climb mountains. I want to get lost in love and there’s no one I’d rather have by my side than you.
And I just love you. I don’t think I ever told you that, but I can write it down. Because it’s you. It has always been you. The one I was dreaming about having some day.
The stupid love that makes me wear heels and I trip thousands of times before I get to the bar, where you take them off of my feet and give me your shoes.
The stupid love that makes me love your music and makes you love mine. The stupid love that had us buying matching shirts—fries and ketchup being the perfect match.
The stupid love that makes me feel like I’m the biggest idiot who has ever lived, but hey, at least I’m your idiot.
Maybe we’re not perfect. We don’t go to the movies; instead, we binge-watch an entire season of a TV show. We don’t go to fancy restaurants; instead, we cook at home and almost burn the kitchen down.
We don’t do it like the people in movies do, but we do it our own way.
I’m not perfect, I’m not lovable all the time. I tend to cry without reason and I love burgers sometimes more than I love myself. I’m a diehard fan of comics and most of the time I pretend to have it all under control when mostly I don’t.
And you’re not perfect either. You yell at the TV too loud when there’s a game on. You’re closed up while I’m babbling on and on. But we’re perfect together.
Your smile dries away my tears, my babbling chases away your silence. But we’re here. We’re in love. And I don’t want us to go anywhere, just stay in this moment, holding hands while Supernatural plays on TV. Us, being imperfectly perfect as we are.
