Wednesday, January 23, 2013


(Dear Reader,
This is the story of a time I fell in love with a person from the inside in, in between their fingers, and even within the borders of our shared scars.)

Dear You,

You fell out of the ocean. I remember it like one of those moments that bears a deep weight, despite its small significance in a day, that month. I saw in your eyes something bigger than the waves.

You took a walk with me in a place I grew up. Pine trees were there but did not cover up that blue sky. We danced on the path while the sunshine hit your face and your smile lit the way.

There was a tornado warning, so we went down into the basement. Your brother was there, upset because his young love was out of reach. But we were together. You wrapped your arms around me in a blanket, and worried about my family with me, while we waited the storm out.

You wanted me to know the God you loved so much and who I had never known (but secretly always wanted to). You helped me there, to here.

You gave me a song that you said reminded you of me. It was a dark rock song, but it gave me hope, when I didn't know you cared, that someday you would.

You admitted you struggled with some issues in the beginning, but you gave them up. For me. 

You made me fall in love with the little moments, and those are the ones that counted.

To many more,

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