A letter you mailed to me just 11 days after you sent me that very first text message.
Loving you is being 10 years old again, scaling a tree with my eyes bright and skyward, wanting only to get higher and higher, without a thought of how I would get back down.
It is slow dancing in the kitchen and kissing in the rain. Though I knew, I hardly even realized that I’ve been preparing myself for this.
Every lesson I’ve learned, and every day dream I’ve had of you before I even knew who you were, has brought me to this moment where I can hardly keep my eyes dry long enough to get to the next sentence. I wish everyone in the world could experience half, even a quarter of our love—the world would definitely be a much better place.
It is going out of your way to make me happy; the way you hold my hand when you know I'm scared, the random text messages in the middle of the day, just to say, "I love you," or "I miss you." The way you tell me I'm beautiful, even if my hair is a mess and I have no makeup on.
Romance is putting your favorite show on pause so I can tell you about my day and laughing at my jokes—even the really lame ones. Once upon a time, I was very afraid that I would not be able to recognize love when it found me.