And We'll Be
1/1
There is something about the way you wake me up in the morning — a cup of coffee on the bedside table and a chaste kiss to the forehead — that sparks an endless curiosity within me. You are too kind to be real, too intuitive and too lovely, and I wonder what I have done for you to want me in your life.
I came to you with skeletons in my closet and a heavy heart, with dark circles under my eyes and a weight dragging my shoulders down. I was mourning myself, clad perpetually in black and always frowning.
You smoothed the wrinkles in my forehead and bought me a red scarf, which I wear every day in the winter. You did not ask questions or express a desire to know the things that I have done, because you knew from the beginning that I would tell you on my own. I have told you now, and there are no more skeletons in my closet thanks to you.
Five months ago, I could not get out of bed. I stayed under the covers for days on end, and still you brought me coffee and kissed my forehead each morning.
Four months ago, you brought me a stack of pamphlets and told me I shouldn’t be letting my brain go to waste. The world needed people like me, you said. We filled out the applications together.
Three months ago, your father died. This was the first true test for us, because there had never been a question of whether or not you were there for me. I learned more about you that month than I had in the three we’d known each other already. After the funeral I told you I loved you, which surprised us both, because I think we both expected you to say it first.
Two months ago, I got a job for the first time in nearly a year. The hours weren’t the best, but you woke me at five each morning with coffee and a kiss to the forehead.
Last month, we went to see your mother in Boston. When I went to the bathroom, I heard her ask you why you were still wasting your time with a burnout like me. We left the next morning, and although you knew I’d heard and I knew that you knew, we didn’t speak of it ever again.
Yesterday, I came home from work to find three large envelopes stuck in the mail slot. I waited for you to get home before opening them, because this was not about me. This was about us. We opened the envelopes and found that I had been accepted to all three schools we’d decided on four months ago. You said you knew this would happen. You said you believed in me. Nobody has ever said this to me before, but I suppose I’d always known that you would be the one.
I came to you with skeletons in my closet and a heavy heart, with dark circles under my eyes and a weight dragging my shoulders down. I was mourning myself, clad perpetually in black and always frowning.
You smoothed the wrinkles in my forehead and bought me a red scarf, which I wear every day in the winter. You did not ask questions or express a desire to know the things that I have done, because you knew from the beginning that I would tell you on my own. I have told you now, and there are no more skeletons in my closet thanks to you.
Five months ago, I could not get out of bed. I stayed under the covers for days on end, and still you brought me coffee and kissed my forehead each morning.
Four months ago, you brought me a stack of pamphlets and told me I shouldn’t be letting my brain go to waste. The world needed people like me, you said. We filled out the applications together.
Three months ago, your father died. This was the first true test for us, because there had never been a question of whether or not you were there for me. I learned more about you that month than I had in the three we’d known each other already. After the funeral I told you I loved you, which surprised us both, because I think we both expected you to say it first.
Two months ago, I got a job for the first time in nearly a year. The hours weren’t the best, but you woke me at five each morning with coffee and a kiss to the forehead.
Last month, we went to see your mother in Boston. When I went to the bathroom, I heard her ask you why you were still wasting your time with a burnout like me. We left the next morning, and although you knew I’d heard and I knew that you knew, we didn’t speak of it ever again.
Yesterday, I came home from work to find three large envelopes stuck in the mail slot. I waited for you to get home before opening them, because this was not about me. This was about us. We opened the envelopes and found that I had been accepted to all three schools we’d decided on four months ago. You said you knew this would happen. You said you believed in me. Nobody has ever said this to me before, but I suppose I’d always known that you would be the one.
♠ ♠ ♠
something a little different from my usual work. i've started writing something small every day, in a little notebook i carry with me everywhere. sometimes i listen to a song, sometimes i find a quote, sometimes i just write. if, like with this, i decide to share it, there will be a little story for you all to read.