i am struggling as I try to begin this. i think it’s because it lacks a purpose. i wonder what it is that i wish to say.
We’ve come so far. You and i.
We’ve both tried to run. We’ve both tried to hide. We’ve both tried to make it end. Even when we promised each other we wouldn’t.
Right now, we’re at an ends because you’ve had enough. You said you wanted more and that you believe i can’t give you that. That you wish to move on to another so you can get that.
Yet. Here we are, lying in each others arms hugging it out because we’ve missed each other. Telling each other that we’re perfect for each other, only that we’re both too broken to make it work.
i wonder if you really miss me, because i so terribly do.
you ask me what it is about you that i do love. and i draw silence and fumble.
i just gave you a reason to run.
i wonder why it is that i draw silence. why is that i can’t seem ever seem to put down and tell you why i love you.
there is big love and there is small love.
it’s the small love i find hard to describe.
it’s those times when i wake up and find that i perfectly fit under your stinky armpit.
it’s those times when you’re eating too fast like always, and i ask you to slow down. you pause, chew a few bites a little slow and then go back to a ravenous monster.
it’s those times when we’re in the kitchen and you come in with all your idiosyncrasies and ask me to make stuff your way. we fight for a while as i don’t agree. And you then you take a bite, raise your eyebrows and say “Ooh, this is nice”.
it’s those times you wear the funniest and weirdest of shirts and defend your taste in fashion to no end.
it’s those times your arms come enclose me from behind, you take a bite of my cheek and say you love me. i feel like a goner then.
it’s those times when you tell me stories of all your inglorious flings of teen past.
it’s those times when you’re sitting behind on the bike with me and you give me a hug.
it’s those times when you argue to no end about a plan or idea i suggest. when we finally end up doing it, it’s funny how you go on about what a brilliant idea it was and take half the credit for it.
it’s those times when you’re lying in my arms and you pull me in closer and whisper in my ear words of warmth.
it’s those times when you maintain the most stoic face when we’re outside together and i want to embrace.
it’s those times when we fight and you then introduce me to your mother.
it’s those times when we’re kissing in a car under the rain.
it’s for those times you hog the blanket from me and aren’t even apologetic. for you think pulling me closer is warm enough.
it’s for those times you put me to bed and kiss my forehead.
it’s for those times you don’t shower or brush for days and are stinky. and ask me proudly to love you for it.
it’s those times when you’re the most stoic person outside, but the warmest inside. it’s those when you say you don’t care but do.
it’s those i call you out on your bullshit or you call out mine. for when we dislike each other.
it’s those times when i’ve hated you. hated you down to the worst for all that you frustrated me. for those i wanted to leave but could never for it felt as if i’d lose my other half.
i wish i could say it was a walk in the garden, for it wasn’t. for there were times when i utterly disliked you.
i don’t know. i wish i could remember all those tiny moments when i fell in love with you. i wish i could recollect and capture them. all i do remember is how you made me feel then and that’s why i love you.
it’s for those times we just know and understand without a word to each other.
for those times the moments pass unspoken between us, but linger as if we’re in a different world.
i wonder why it is that i can’t forget or leave.
i wonder how it is that we’re both so different and yet similar.
we hate because we’re both similar yet different.
we love because we’re both similar yet different.
maybe you’re right, we’re too broken to be.
but i wish you’d honestly answer yourself this, do you really believe so?
for i believe that even if and for that we’re broken, we’re meant to be.
for that we’re two broken pieces that make a perfect whole again.
for that our rugged ends fit into each other perfectly.
cracked, but glued together.
a little too imperfectly perfect.