I wanted to write you a love letter. A long one. Written in cursive. On paper that smelled like powdery perfume. I would slip it in your bag when you’re not looking or I’ll try to trick you into looking at the barren sky, comment on where the stars have gone missing, and make up a story about where they are. I would push the love letter inside your bag, the paper trembling in the dark, eager to be opened.
But I couldn’t write you a love letter. Not a long one, not in cursive. Not on paper that smelled like powdery perfume.
I was scared to use words that could not describe the workings of my heart. How it beats not for you, but because of you. How it laid itself bare, honest and absolutely defenseless to your charms and your wit and your love.
I was scared that it may not be enough. That planting my limited vocabulary in a wild slur of cheesy exposition may confuse you, or much worse, alienate you from what I truly feel.
I could say that I love you and leave it at that. Tell you that you mean the world to me. That your happiness makes me happy and your sadness makes me sad. I could say that you are amazing. Like freshly baked cupcakes or a massive pile of comics. But see, it’s still not enough.
I really wanted to write you a love letter. A good one. One that could make you cry. Make you blush. Make you want to hold me and embrace me with your eyes closed.
And then, a grand idea. My life spent with you will be my love letter. And it will be a long one. Written not in cursive but in laughter and conversation. Not on paper but on fond, warm memories. They will not smell like powdery perfume but of sweet nostalgia and contentment.
I love you, Happy Valentine’s Day.
NOTE: I wrote this for my boyfriend for Valentine’s Day but as with letter traditions between the two of us, I ended up READING this for him instead of just sending it. haha