Some days I'll only show it through the way I ruffle your hair. I'll steal your beanie and parade it around to say I'm yours. I'll take your hand and spin you around and ask you to dance with me—even if you step on my toes or we end up just swaying side to side, I don't care. I just want to be wrapped in you.
Some days I won't talk to you all day. Maybe I'll send you a picture of the sun, the snow, or the food I'm eating, just to keep you a part of my day—despite the distance, I want you to know even the most mundane partsy of my days. Sometimes I won't even do that much. I won't want to show you how normally my days are going, when really all that's on my mind is the thought of you and what you might be doing too. And you'll think I'm moving on. You'll think I've forgotten about you. But every day I fall asleep listening to songs that I can't hear without you on my mind. I don't think I could ever forget you.
Some days I'll text you about seemingly mundane things. You'll think I'm being distant; you'll think I'm just making small conversation. But honestly, I just want to tell you even the smallest parts of my days. I just want you to know everything about my life, every opinion I have, even if it all seems as insignificant as how my friend quit smoking or how bruised my knees are from dancing.
Some days I'll write you letters. Because I'll be feeling too much with no way to express it. I'll go through the week wondering when to send it, when you'll receive it, and when you'll finally respond back. Some days I'll wonder if maybe I should stop, maybe you don't even read them. But I'll continue anyways, in hope that you do.
Some days I'll just tell you. My fingers will hesitate over the keyboard. My thumbs will write out words, configured into sentences, trying to phrase my feelings in the best manner possible—maybe there will come a day when I won't feel guilty for telling you such things. Maybe there will come a day when I won't feel like I'm suffocating and drowning you in my love.
And you. You will probably go through each day thinking I don't love you. You will probably feel like you're annoying me every time you send me a message, every time you call. You don't know that every day I keep my phone charged with me at 100%, waiting for that moment you'll finally contact me. You probably think you're suffocating me. You probably think you should let me go, let me be free. Or maybe I should let you go, let you be free. But I'm selfish. So unbelievably selfish I am willing to break myself, break you, break the people around us, in order to keep you with me.
This is how I love you—like a confused mess who has no idea what she's doing. Maybe there will come a time when the days that pass between our calls or messages will stretch out to months, maybe even years. I don't know what the future holds. But right now, as I am sitting here watching my friend commit to a tattoo for the rest of her life, I can't think of a commitment I'd regret the least than to always have you in my life. Maybe one day you'll meet someone else, and maybe I'll meet someone else too. But I'll still always love you. I'll always want you to be in my life either way, and I hope you'll feel the same way too. That is how I love you.
