I daydream about us existing together.
About us eating breakfast together, me visiting you at work for lunch, you bringing home the broccoli for dinner, fighting to put the fitted sheet on our bed together – it always was a two person job. Food shopping, becoming the people we hated; bickering in line, planning tomorrow's dinner, spending ten minutes kissing in aisle three because I can never help myself when it's 8am or 12.30pm or 4.46pm.
Or 1am with too many wines sitting in my stomach and sitting in my heart is the feeling of wanting to cry because I've never been so happy.
Thank you for loving me. Thank you for listening and knowing what to say and understanding even when there are things you don’t understand. You make me believe in Gods I’d forgotten about, purely because your heart is the type of good that’s written about in scriptures.
I used to thumb through psalms when feeling low, finding rest in the idea that other people have felt the same, have felt tired and weak. I’ve only ever felt powerful and uplifted around you.
Loving you is so easy. Like pushing peddles on my bike on the first day of spring after a long winter, the map of the backstreets to my childhood home, and the chords of my favourite love song.
It’ll always be easy.