Nov 24

Written by: michaela renee
11/24/2009 10:04 AM

I love you, and more than that I love the way you love me. The way you brush my hair back to see my eyes better. The way your eyes well up with tears when you reach the back of my mind.

I love the way you shed your coat in forty degree weather and wrap it around my shoulders because you saw me slightly shiver. I love the way you yell in a crowded airport “let me be the man” when I try to take control, and the way the embarrassment causes me to let go, let you have the reigns.

I love how you roll over half way through the night, patting around until you find it, my hip bone. And the way you run your fingers softly over the curve and then pull me close and squeeze tight, and even more the way you don’t let go until the sun starts rising over the dew speckled pines outside our window.

I love the way I feel protected from all the evils in this world, well-knowing you’d slay the dragon, fight the roman emperor or sacrifice yourself to save me. I love the way when I ask, “is she prettier than me?” Without even blinking you reply, “Can’t be possible, because you are the prettiest in the world.” And how when my head tilts and you know I still wonder you continue on to say, “And one day, when I see the whole Universe, I’ll tell you that you are prettiest in the Universe too.”

I love the way you reach over to buckle my seatbelt, because that’s way more important than holding open my door. I love the way you bee-line across the bar to put your hand on my waist, and the way you always bring back the exact drink I would want, even if I never said. How do you know that?

I love that when we were kids you said you’d marry me someday, and that somehow nearly 20 years later those very words make me tingle. I love the way my girlfriends love you, and remind me, because sometimes I become afraid.

Because I love you, but…

Not the way your mood brings me down, especially because I’m hopelessly optimistic. Or the way my world falls apart when you are upset.

Not how I worry that maybe I’m not the bestest, prettiest, most perfect girl for you. And how being so in love with you makes me vulnerable.

I don’t love how you fear I’m going to leave someday, or how you get so territorial and jealous of the non-existent ...or worse, my past…especially because it’s in ink, a permanent reminder.

I hate that I love you so much, that sometimes it hurts. And I wish that maybe when were kids, we’d just kissed, and held on forever, right then. Because I never worry about the “what if maybe-so” but rather the “what if maybe-not.”

And I’ve loved and lost, and I’ve been loved and not loved in return.
And I’ve seen what’s right and what’s wrong.
And I’ve let go of myself for someone else.
I’ve been together, and I’ve been alone.
I know the light side of the moon, and the dark side of the stars.
And sometimes I wonder, if all that I am, can be with all that you are.
Because it’s not about what follows the “but.”

It’s about the three words that lead.
I love you, but…

 

Copyright ©2009 Michaela Renee

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