Fitzsimmons 2

Fitz Would Never Send Her Love Letters

Quick Note: you found the new book!  Thanks for the continuous support, guys!  I'm working on finishing Camp Shik'is before Christmas for y'all.  :)

New book, new divider thing!

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Jemma,

I hope I made you laugh more than anyone else ever did.  Or, since I know you don't laugh a lot because you're insecure about the loud snorts that I always thought sounded adorable on you, I hope I made you light up in that stupid half-smirk that I fell for in the first place.  Did you know that's why I fell?  Did you even know I'd jumped with you?

And what else?  There's too much of you to be quantifiable.  But I'm an engineer, and my life is numbers and calculations and analysis, so I can't help but try.

I'll start with your hands.  They're dry and fast and precise, like your mind.  I watched for years, mesmerized by the easy way each finger flowed across microscope knobs and the dull edges of glassware.  How they absentmindedly run through my hair on nights when we're stressed and running on coffee and cheap wine.

Then you'd open your mouth and it'd open the floodgates of knowledge that was pure and unashamed.  Kindness and sincerity in a sharp British accent.  Ferocity.  Enthusiasm.  Love.  Everything you ever were and forever will be has spilled through those pale pink lips, and I want nothing more than to know you through them.

I know you always said your eyes weren't conventionally beautiful, but let me tell you that I've found Heaven in them.  The murky chestnut reminds me of the creeks near my mum's house in Glasgow or the steaming cups of tea you've made us for years.  Out of all the things tethering me to you, the galaxies within your irises have become my home.

There's the freckles graphed along your shoulders.

The outline of your spine down your back.

The swell of the hip bones you've always hated, but I've wanted to kiss.

The smell of your vanilla bean shampoo and hand sanitizer.

Your cheekbones, your sandwiches, your mismatched work blouses and jeans.  The golden necklace I gave you after graduation.

I should've said it then.  Or maybe you should've known it then, but for the life of you, you'll never be able to be observant to the things that everyone else sees.

Maybe it all changed through the blackness.  Maybe, across the stars you'd always loved, you lost your naïveté.  Maybe you saw him before you could even glimpse me.  Or was he just faster?

I've never been good with speed.  You would know; you've spent nearly ten years with me.  But I'd like to think that slow and steady wins the race, that I will get to love you stronger and harder and longer than someone who hasn't tortured himself for years with daydreams of sleeping next to you nor visions of your tears.  I'd like to think you'll one day recognize how much I've sacrificed.

Until then I'll keep finding new ways to give myself up to you.  I'll keep yearning for your happiness over my own.  I'll keep to myself.  But I won't keep away from you.  Ever.