ily

I’m trying to expel the worry that it’s too soon.
That I’m feeling too much, too fast.
But meeting you was a nice accident.
And I choose to believe I have an abundance of love within me-
and I choose to give it to you.

You came over last night.
Dusk had settled in, and you tucked all my worries into bed for me.
You had called, and I felt a deep wave of shame as I looked around my strewn-apart room-
neglected plants, discarded sweet wrappers,
the setting sun glinting off half-sipped cans of flat Diet Coke.
Through teary eyes, I took in every detail, every flaw-everything but my own reflection.

You did that part for me.
Your eyes poured into mine, your face half-hidden behind a too-limp pillow.
Wordless, I took you in:
the pink fleck near your iris I trace like a drifting cloud,
the softness of your earlobe between my thumb and forefinger,
your heavy breathing that turned to a nervous chuckle each time my gaze lingered.

Then, not wordless.
I told you I loved you.

I meant it-wholly, with such quiet intent that it had scared me before we were lying there.
I know I’m your first love, and with that came a different kind of fear:
that I might not be enough.
That I might rob you of the kind of love we grow up watching in films-
scripted, glowing, certain.

But you smiled. Shyly.
And whispered it back.

Your kind eyes never looked away.
And in that moment, I knew.

Thank you for catching me as I fell for you.