Today you called me, and you sounded so happy to be talking to me that I felt so guilty for not having text you as soon as I saw I’d missed a call from you the first time.
I don’t really know why I did that. After last night while talking to T I felt down – you know how someone talks to you about their problems and it kind of gets you thinking negatively about your own life? – and thought that maybe you don’t really want this relationship.
But you called me, and we talked, and you said you were going to come to see me on Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day, babe? How did you know that the one thing I’d been wishing for these past few days was to actually be in the same city as you for the first Valentine’s Day that I won’t be single and getting drunk with other depressed single girls?
You amaze me every day with your ability to have me wondering if you even still want to be with me and then swoop in with something like this visit that has me feeling like there’s a huge bubble in my chest.
That bubble is my love for you. Every time it surfaces in that so-happy-it’s-painful way, I’m even more sure that this distance is not going to break us; that you and I are going to make it – whatever happens in between – to the “I do” at the end of the aisle and to the children we’re both so eager to have.
I love you. It happened so fast and so subtle that I doubted it for a while, sure I was imagining it. But I wasn’t. And I’m sure now, so sure it’s scary, that I can take that leap and give you the key to my heart.