Sometimes I wonder about the effect your love has on me. I don't deny that I'm in love with you- for once, I can move past the obvious- and I don't deny that I have no idea what kind of love it is. I suppose it's not the once-in-a-lifetime kind, because if it was I would know. It is curious to me that I think of you in the strangest moments; it is strange to find myself content to talk to you in the evenings and have no remote desire to pour out all of these thoughts onto you.
The thing that intrigues me the most, I suppose, is that this is not a logical love. There is no absolute redeeming quality about you except for that I loved you first, before anyone else. You are selfish and headstrong, dense and unresponsive, self-centered and sometimes boring. But you are not any of these things in excess; they are only parts of you that make you who you are, and perhaps you are better for it. Your selfishness lets you dream, your strength lets you go after the things you want. The fact that you have the sensitivity of a friendly brick wall is an occupational hazard of being a teenager, and you are only boring when I expect you to be someone you are not. You have never asked me to be anyone else, and I pay that back to you every moment I have.
I associate things with you. Every time I pass someone that wears the same cologne as you, I think of you. I will never be able to listen to all the songs you've introduced me to without remembering the time and circumstance under which they were given to me, and I don't regret that like I used to. I have a box of memories, a beautiful collection of love and joy and strength, and my views of these memories have aged over time- like a wine, they have become sweeter and more valuable. And now, the moments where you expose yourself to me when that wall of yours comes down, I catch onto it and breathe it in and remember.
I wish I could view life with the same simplicity as you do. If you want something, you go get it. If you have something to say, you say it. I am tied up in the tangles of political correctness and not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, but you say the words I cannot find in myself. You show me who I am- that I have the capacity to love far beyond what I would have guessed, that I am beautiful, that I have worth. You've never said any of those things, and maybe you've never even thought them, but you have lead me to all of these conclusions. It is funny to me that the moment I stop looking for answers is when I finally get them, but I suppose I should have known God would work that way. You were the one gift I recognized right away as being from Him. From you, I see all the other gifts I have. You open my eyes; I am every piece Eden and every piece Josephine and every piece the mysterious girl you wrote and editied and removed.
I refuse to remove you.