You are so important to me. I feel warm when I’m around you. So happy to know that somebody like you exists at all. So lucky to have such a person in my life. There is also this adolescent part of me that wants to demolish everything I already have with you because it wastes so much time imagining what it would be like to know you sexually.
I need a minute to say these things unfiltered, without the distortion of present circumstance painting an awful portrait of a deceptive spouse, or a conniving, horrible friend. Until recently, I’ve kind of just thought that this is something that’s normal for you . . . to leave a trail of suitors in your wake. Your personality is strong. Your spirit is comforting. For all I know, I’m not wrong. However, what started as an adorable, appreciative crush has grown exponentially in the past few weeks, blossoming into something that is dead serious about its own existence and for me that isn’t normal. The last time I felt something like this I was 16, falling in love for the first time with somebody who whole-heartedly reciprocated my feelings. Our relationship was intense. My love for her had such incredible staying power that I didn’t get over her until I was 24, even though our relationship didn’t even last a year. I’ve had a few crushes since I’ve been married, but they quickly faded into obscurity. This is different. You’re different. I feel like I’ve known you for a thousand years.
So right now, I’m happy, because you’re sitting right there, reading the words, understanding that this is a familiar voice. But I’m also uncomfortable because I feel exposed, and some things are still so hard to say, even if they’re true and I’ve given myself permission. You get how meticulous I am, right? How controlled. How deliberate. There is a nagging superego hanging around here right now, imploring me to stop because this level of transparency has always landed me somewhere difficult.
I love you. I feel a chill up my spine just thinking that thought. About you. Only you. I’ve hardly eaten or slept the past five days because I’m so captivated by the idea that you -even could- feel the same way. Yet here’s an unattractive truism un-neatly wrapped in this whole scenario—I’ve never felt like this about this wife person of mine. The familiarity. The passion. The ache. I only had this once when I was a teenager, and when I finally got her in front of my face I couldn’t say anything useful to her. I was overwhelmed. I thought it was a one-time thing, driven by hormonal changes and an immature psychological makeup. I was wrong. I’m okay with that.