I don’t give up on people easily, even though they had already given up on me, even though there’s no reason to hold on, even from the start. I have this idea that what if they look back and I’m not there? Maybe, just maybe.
You don’t need to buy me expensive things or take me out to dinner every night or even every weekend. I don’t need the world or want the world. I want the little things. If you push my hair out of face or rub my back. Or if you randomly kiss my cheek. Or text me randomly saying you miss me. Or if you make a tweet about me or post a picture of us. Then that’s all I care about. I want the little things. I care way more about that, than anything else.
i never told you how much so.
1. your body is autumn leaves along the wind, and i am mud. i will wait for every piece of you to drop without shedding mascara tears and we will stay in the places where the rain runs away.
2. a fifteen minute make-out session during a wedding feels like a conflagration of collages on the wall. my dress is not made up of painted papers but we are heat proof and we are fire.
3. my dog died when i was eleven, i made him a beaded collar with my name on it for we were born the same day. i’d like to think the same with you, but this time we’ll live through our 50-year-old bucket list with a ring on our fingers.
4. your arms are sweaters by the hearth and i am a snowflake that has landed on our bedroom window that looks through our children’s eyes, as their hands held funeral flowers. i’m not going to be there when they need grape cough syrup.
5. i may have tried remembering the number of days Noah’s ark was built, and the taste of your blueberry brandy tongue. but i don’t remember the steering wheel eating up my chest, and how much i wanted to tell you I love—