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You and I.

When I was looking through old files for old resumes, I found my letters to you, a constant loop of my life a year ago, broken up into one page sections so the letters would stretch longer against time.

Though I see you every day (almost), I'm still wishing you were here tonight, though we both need to be in different places in the morning, for Easter Sunday. I never seem to get tired of you, but I've never wanted to ask if you get tired of me. I fear any answer that isn't "of course not."

There are things I seek to know but cannot ask. It's a small and awkward silence that steps in with conversation. We are constantly bringing new things to the hearth, holding them up in the firelight and exclaiming, "Check this out." I have half-hearted thoughts that our adventures are more so because we have someone to share them with, that we are more interesting because someone is there to listen.

You.

Tonight, it is The Red Violin soundtrack and Morphine albums, Tricky and red wine, trying to recount the drugged feeling of dimly lit rooms. We reach for each other's hands without thinking, clutching for some tangible excuse to be alive. Inside tonight is a hunger for a food I cannot name yet, food I will likely not find until morning.

Four months have passed this way.

I am trying to not think too much, to not ask too many questions, so instead I am thankful. I am happy and amazingly sated.

The minute I heard my first love story I started look for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.
--Rumi

And I didn't look for you. I looked for someone to listen, someone to excuse my paltry skin gamblings and still not give up on me. Our connection wasn't purely random but was something pleasantly unexpected, which made it all the more special. I can't ask you your side of comparison; I only know I haven't been this happy in years.

Is it all because of you? Or have I allowed it to happen too? We overlook each other's flaws, and its within a golden moment that we are living breathing truth about life, even though we have no idea where we are going, where this will go.

I'm supposed to seek permanence, to find the concrete real of other humans. I'm expected to want more than just you, right now. I can't help but want to want only this and care nothing for the future, to let this build on its own.

It is for you I sacrifice the need to know. It is you who helps me forget all the idle voices in my brain, whispering fate and failure.

It is you I wait for time to pass, tonight.