All of the time there are thousands of things I want to say to you. I want to tell you how my day was, or how many times I thought about you today. I want to tell you about what’s going on with the babygirl at school and what happened at work today. I want to tell you all those things knowing that you knew it all yesterday too, so you’d be caught up. I want you to have the history to every story of my life so you feel like you know me. I want to tell you about my friend who is living the same story that we are. That I actually have someone to talk to about it because she doesn’t judge me for the decisions I make regarding you. Better than wanting any of that, I also want to know all of those things about you. Our history is so old, and I know so much, but there is that time in between, and now.
I don’t know how to approach it and when I do you turn it off, change the subject, move along. I’ve told you before that I’d not ever keep it from you, that you would always know how I feel, because I feel like I owe it to you. I wish you felt like you owed it to me too, to tell me how you feel. I wish that you could sit next to me and tell me the things I want to hear, if not for comfort, just for my ego. I wish that you would sit and tell me about how much it means to you, my loyalty and my love. I wish that we could talk about how great it is going to be when we get old. That we’ll sit every day on the front porch, just to look forward to doing it again the next day.
What I wish I could say would be so poetic that you wouldn’t be able to wait to come home every day. Something that would make you change the area code on your phone number so that you were only a few minutes away at any given moment. I’m unable to come up with prose so real that doesn’t sound like the blabbering of a romantic movie script. We all know stuff like that doesn’t come true. So instead I’m gonna lead you to these two particular pieces of writing that explain how I feel. The heartbreak and the happiness.