Seven Years

Someone once told me that it takes seven years for every cell in the human body to regenerate—every seven years, you’re a whole new person.  Even through the arguments, the tears, and the New Years where we arrived as a couple but you disappeared with another at the stroke of midnight, I still wanted you.  Maybe it isn’t really you I’m in love with, it’s you seven years ago, and today you just happen to look like that person.  Maybe if we’d never met, and I met you today, we’d do it all differently.  Maybe we wouldn’t give each other a second glance.  Maybe we’d be drawn together for another seven years, but we’d wind up in the same place, apart.

I’m left with the ring in my pocket and the love in my heart.

I’d rather have you for a few more years.

-Anon.

 

jcolman @ Flickr

Idiot

I’m an idiot for you.  I’m a blabbering moron, a silent wallflower.  I’ll deprecate myself until there is nothing left, or talk myself up until my neck falters under the weight of my head.  I’m anything but myself.  I’m not sure I’ll ever be honest around you because I care too much.

Perhaps I’ll just go sit in the corner.

-Anon.

 

Candie_N @ Flickr

 

 

Laugh

You laugh so hard you run out of breath.  You laugh without inhibition, without regard for the sounds you make or your surroundings.  Your laugh is the reason I exist, the reason I choose my words carefully, the reason I distill my day into something that can fuel your sense of humor.

I wanted to say that I love that you laugh at my jokes, but really, I love that my jokes make you laugh.

-Anon.

TGIGreeny @ Flickr

 

 

 

 

Your Past

I love that you are not now nor have ever been my best friend’s girlfriend.  I don’t think I’d have a problem if you were Jesse’s girl—I don’t know him, and honestly, since I’ve never met him, I could care less—he’s just a name.  However, I do love your past, because it made you you, and brought you to me.  I’m sure we both benefit from it every day in understanding, compassion, and things that happen when doors get closed (or when we can’t quite wait to find a place where doors close). 

Thanks for not dating any of my friends, and thanks for finding me.

–Anon.

Kiss

I love the way you kiss.  It’s like the national pastime doesn’t exist, like we’re playing a game that only has one base, and we’re both winning. 

I’ve tried to parse it out, figure out the movements and rhythm, but I can’t remember the details.  Something about your kiss explodes, erasing the moment itself but leaving a beautiful light in its wake.

Please do not use your powers for evil.

-Anon.

 

Troy McClure SF @ Flickr