Silly

This was not how I imagined high school love.

In seventh grade, I told myself I would find someone I loved that didn't anger the masses. Someone respectable--a guy on the football team, who liked cars and sports and would buy me flowers on Valentine's Day. As I entered high school, I realized that this fantasy was myself painting an illusion of what everyone expected of me. So I lowered my expectations, and everyone else's.

And boy, oh boy, was I surprised.

I found someone I love unconditionally. Not the person I initially wanted to want. But it was a huge wake-up call for me. And it couldn't have been a better realization.

She's perfect and I'm elated. Of course, our relationship doesn't fit into one category--and that's fine by me. I've always refused to narrowly define any aspects of myself, and this shouldn't be any different.

We're affectionate, but not overtly so. Perfect type of relationship for afternoon lie-downs in which her head is on my abdomen, using me as a pillow.

"Don't ever lose weight," she tells me. "You're really comfortable."

There are so many ways I could respond to that--hugging her tight and thanking her for her affection, smiling to myself in silent appreciation of her, a fervent promise to not lose my pooch of belly fat--but none would adequately express everything.

I settle for chuckling quietly, stroking her hair, and murmuring "You're silly, love."