I read something that was sent to me a long time ago.
No, we aren’t in a cupcake phase anymore.
Yes, I still love you and will never lose sight of that fact because you are worth so much to me.
I have been missing your hand on my wrist and your breath on the nape of my neck. The subtle change in intimacy when I realize that it’s really you, and you are really here, and you are more than I ever thought I was worth is what tells me the kind of way you are special to me.
I say that so often, and I know I mean it, but the words are the kind of thing that I cannot catch with my mouth. None of the vocabulary at my disposal tastes anything like the sound of your voice. The ingredients are there, but a recipe like you isn’t something that needs to be taken down on paper. Instead, you are something to be shown. The way you brush the hair out of my face or the care you take to keep my panic at bay. There is no formula to calculate the hitch in your breath, no composition able to resonate the rhythm of your gaze over me when I am not looking, and no step-by-step tutorial for the way to hold someone the way you hold me and the minute hands stop moving.
I don’t want to find the words that are lost somewhere between here and the moon. I don’t want to find them, because the art that has been made over bed sheets and car seats is far more colorful than the crisp typography of a keyboard filling a paper with words that are trying to tell you that I love you for everything you are.
Screaming at you that the arrangement of letters in sentences on a page can never amount to you.
I could just really use a hug right now.
I just want to feel like I’m worth more than the loose change we leave behind.
I just want to be held like someone loves me.