Open Letter On Love

Before I knew love as willing my mind awake at the darkest times of the morning, in case you had a bad night and needed someone to talk to. As making my parents drop me off near your house at any and all hours of the day when I needed to feel like you needed me. As searching for any excuse to talk to you. As less patient, less steady, but more hungry, more desperate. I knew love as an obsession I couldn’t seem to waver, always coming back for longer days with you. As panic attacks and falling asleep with the moon and dried tears on our cheeks. Always feeling empty when you were not around.

Now I see love as something brighter, something that appears right in front of me, not as a dull reminder edged in my brain. As buying all the snacks I know you like at the shops and holding your hand as you sleep, not because I need to but because I want to. As pretending to be awake so you can keep watching whatever we’re watching because I can tell you’re not tired enough to sleep yet. As quiet conversations in which neither of us are afraid to say how we really feel. As knowing what the other wants without even speaking. It’s knowing when it’s time to turn the lights off. It’s hating all the same foods. It’s feeling guilt when you’ve upset the other, rather than fear. It’s playing cards to decide who’s running the errand. It’s that feeling of relief when all the guests have gone and it’s just us in the room again.