love letters

a. You keep a collection of alabaster rocks.

b. On days where I can't breathe, you kiss oxygen into my lungs.

c. It’s the creative process, you say, a little pout on your lips, and I don’t think I will ever tire of loving you. I don’t think I will ever tire of the pinch in your brows, the way your eyes smile.

d. Dating you has been a choice; a conscious decision.

e. Your ears turn red when you’re embarrassed.

f. I will follow you wherever you go. I will follow you to the world beyond this one. I will follow you in death and after death. I will follow you in health and in happiness.

g. God, your face.

h. Your hands are bigger than mine.

i. In September, I walked with you and watched the autumn leaves be drawn into your orbit.

j. I am jealous of the exhale in the seam of your lips. I am jealous of the back of your eyelids that see you every moment that I don’t. I am jealous of the cuffs in your jeans, your jacket. I am jealous of Death, because they will have you to themselves up until I find you again.

k. I like to kiss you in the mornings after we brush our teeth, our elbows knocking. You like to kiss me at night after we brush our teeth, our elbows knocking.

l. You have been in possession of my love for all my life. When I didn’t know you, you had my daydreams. When I didn’t have you, you had my longing. When I confessed, you had my faith. Now, when I wake up to you every morning, when I fall asleep to your pulse every night, you have my heart, my body, and my soul.

m. I assure you that meringue isn’t a flavour; you assure me that it is.

n. Of course, I love all versions of you. You in every setting. But I particularly love the you that buzzes with static when we are together in the hot city summer and it’s night. The you that grins and mouths at the line of streetlight that angles over your cupid’s bow.

o. You own a tin of orange chapstick. I swipe it off your person when you’re headed away, so I can run some over my lips, waxy and soft, and slacken in the phantom press of yours.

p. Please, you say. I don’t really know how to tell you that I would give you anything you ever wanted, but I suspect, from the shimmer in your eyes, that you’re well aware.

q. Sometimes I think I’m too quiet. You look at me and smile softly, fondly, and then I realize that all this time you’ve been patiently listening to me speak.

r. Red is my favourite colour. I love you, for bringing me cardinals, cranberries, lucky charms, though I love more the red swell of your lips where you’ve worried them sick; the flush across your apple cheeks; your scarlet ears.

s. We go out. I can’t stop staring at the length of your legs, which seem to last for miles and miles in your dark slacks. You grin at me and ask where I’m looking. I grin back and mouth sexy.

t. Tell me, you pout. I blow a raspberry in your ear.

u. I will love you freely. I will love you without condition, without strings attached—I promise that my love will never carry with it the expectation of repayment. Take my feelings for you in your kind hands and treat it gently, and feel my vow of unconditional love ribbed over every surface you can grasp.

v. I kiss your wrist. What was that for? your eyes ask, crinkled and smiley. Your pulse is steady. Th-thump, it says, and I kiss it again for verification.

w. Watching you is like an Olympic sport. My heart beats faster in anticipation, my breath quickens, and time slows from water to molasses.

x. In the morning sometimes, I find a note in your wiry handwriting. Hey sunshine, they all start, followed by pick up milk, please? or breakfast is in the microwave or meet me at noon or simply, have a wonderful day, xoxo. Like looking in a mirror, I trace my smile in the little curl on the x’s.

y. You. How do I even start? Well, last week I read online that said when writing great, nuanced topics—that’s me, by the way, struggling to express my love for you—to start with something small…

z. You write zeroes with that little line through the middle.