You’ve always been quiet. Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in that head of yours but most of the time I’m just content with the reassurance of your hands holding mine. You always tease me that maybe I talk too much to compensate for your silence. I would pretend to take offense so you’d kiss me as a way of apology.
I love waking up on Sunday mornings with the scent of your skin and the comfort of your arms around me. I’d gaze outside the window and wonder how many people out there are as lucky as I am to be with the man I love.
Infinity is when the wind plays with my hair as we cruise on deserted roads on your bike as the stars keep score on us. And as I close my eyes, I throw a wish that I could hold you like that forever.
We never had arguments but we had bitter fights that would leave me cold and desolate. Your defeaning silence used to tear me apart. We would go on days hurting each other, caring for our pride before we would succumb to a reconciliation.
When I stare at your eyes, I’m reminded of why I love you. And it’s not because you make fluffy pancakes or that you fix my computer because I keep doing the same stupid thing on it, or that you do not go out on Fridays because I always have to work Friday nights, or that you don’t get mad even if I don’t watch those movies you like so much; it’s because I like myself better when I’m with you. At times, you could make me the happiest person on earth. Other times, you could hurt me like no one else could. But always, I feel like I’m a better version of me when I’m with you. I don’t tell you this because sometimes I feel the shame in admitting that.
I have vague recollections of why we broke up. Did we grow apart? Did you get tired of my immaturity? Did I have enough of your silence? But I remember that day we finally said goodbye. You hugged me and wished me a good life. And I had to hold back my tears and pretended to be brave and wished you happiness.
I didn’t hear from you for so long. I did move on and tried to see other people. And so many things have happened since then. You became a distant memory of a first love that haunts me on lazy Sunday afternoons.
And now you’re back and we’re talking again and it’s like the old times. I talk to you about work and writing again and how Sheldon cracks me up. And you’re still quiet but you smile while you listen to my stories. And I couldn’t tell you how much I missed your smile. When you said you would want us to have dinner at our favorite place because you haven’t been there for a while, I had to remind you I still couldn’t go out on Fridays. I thought my heart would explode when you said it was okay because you still don’t go out on Fridays. I could only manage a weak smile but I wanted to hug you so hard that time and tell you how much I have missed you.
I am so happy that you’re back that it scares me to think of you leaving again. And so I’m writing you this because I want to tell you that I’ve watched those movies you downloaded for me (I still don’t like them though), and that I’ve tried so many recipes to make the pancakes the way you make them and that I miss you holding my hand while we wait for the train.
And so before I go to sleep. I pray that in the morning, I’d wake up next to you, bathed in the scent of your skin, finding bliss in your arms around me.