Sometimes I act as if I’ve forgotten that I love him.
In those moments, I want to scream, “I LOVE YOU I HAVE ALWAYS AND WILL NEVER NOT,” while also feeling like I’m suffocating or drowning by the presence of another.
The presence of a man who I swear has never felt this way and who seemingly naturally goes out of his way to think of me and do for me in ways that seem like swimming to him — smooth and fluid.
Gliding.
I kissed him on his forehead just now after putting flannel sheets on the bed (just because I know he loves them and because soon it will be too warm) and I kissed him on the forehead right after remembering that we won’t always get to have each other — that one of us will die first.
Why is it always the promise of death that makes me love. Makes me remember.
I will likely always have minutes or days of forgetting in my head what my body knew the first time we talked in the phone.
(To make plans to go for a walk. After we’d settled on a time and day and place I started saying nothing and he told me, “Unless you have something important to talk about, I have to go.”)
Which was and is: you are it.
x,
*E