"Why do you love me?"
I knew you'd ask me that one day. I knew that when you did, nothing I could do would prepare me for a response. Even though I already knew the answer... I couldn't form the words I wanted to say.
That's why I gave the question a lot of thought, maybe even more than what was healthy for me. I knew what to say, I knew what I /wanted/ to say... but I couldn't say it. I didn't know how.
So I practiced. Shameful as it may be, I practiced, and practiced. I almost felt like a bad lover for not being able to just /say/ it, every morning of every day. Wouldn't anyone else do that?
But then I realized, I'm not everyone else- and I feel like you know that already, you fell in love with me knowing I was different. You fell in love with me knowing that even though I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, I'm still dangerous to the touch. You fell in love with me knowing you'd be going on one hell of an adventure.
But why do I love you? You're going to ask me that one day, right?
Maybe that's the first of many reasons: You know that love knows no bounds. You love me for the me that I am, and wouldn't ask me to change if it were for the better. You accept me. I love you because you love me.
I love you because from the moment we first met, from the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were just as different as me. You were so... breathtaking. You still are, and you always will be.
You don't notice how unusually stunning your eyes are; I couldn't look away if I wanted to. They can be innocent when they need be, stern when they need be. It's scary, almost, but it's the thrill that keeps me so utterly drawn to them, to you.
Your skin is soft to the touch, marble against the rough surface of my own. Every inch of contact feels like fire and ice: opposite, yet they can't seem to part. It almost does burn, to the point where I want to pull away- but I /can't/. You keep me from doing so; as soon as I do, I fear I could forget the feeling and only come back for more.
Your voice is alluring, over the years it's grown to be even more so. Each word you say is a symphony, beautifully harmonized into a concert I'd pay by the billions to hear. The laugh you make when you can't breathe, or even the chuckle you give at lame jokes, I can't seem to get enough of them these days. I even love the way your words are slurred beyond recognition in those rare times you drink. I cherish those moments; I don't get them too you're excited, you get louder, happier, and it does just the same to me.
It's in the little things you do; all the hand gestures you make when you're telling a story, or the way your eyes get a sparkle in them when you talk about something you love. It's the way you jump when you don't realize someone's behind you and then deny it afterwards. The way you exaggerate during an argument, or puff out your cheeks ever so slightly when you run out of things to say. How you unconsciously smile when you say my name, or I yours. It's the way you look when you first wake up, with tufts of hair sticking out and your groggy morning/mid-day voice.
I've known you for years, even though I may not know you like the back of my hand like I should, I know you're more important than anyone else to me. I know that left or right, friend or foe, I'll always come back to you. It will always be you. I love you, and no one else.
Why do I love you?
I'm so glad you asked.