of illusions on what love is supposed to look like
I write about you a lot, but you're not aware of it. You will never read any of it, because you're not that kind of person. Our versions of art and genius lie on two opposite sides of the spectrum. You like to draw; I like to write. I love fiction and I adore poetry, while you really only touch your personal library when you need instructions on First Aid or on how to build a boat. I have been a willing slave of literature and words all my life; you have no patience for it. I'm a bit of a grammar-nazi, whereas you misspell every other word you write or type.
You like Snitch and Boondock Saints, while I'm more of a Pride and Prejudice kind of girl. I love walking down the Strip; you get frustrated just driving there. I love screamo, but you're into techno and hip-hop.
We both have the tendency to be control freaks. We find it so incredibly difficult to trust other people. We get mad when we really should be sad or hurt. We don't like to show our weaknesses. We are crazy afraid of being vulnerable. We make each other scream with frustration when we fight. We've driven each other to tears on more than one occasion. We're almost impossible, sometimes.
But neither of us possesses the ability to let our fights last more than a few hours, so we're both almost always ready to make up once the opportunity arises. We both love making the other person laugh. We can't sit together without cuddling. We're both passionate. We're both healthily experimental. We bring the best out of each other. We don't hold back on our compliments. We can't be around each other without touching. We're affection whores.
We both love hiking. We love admiring nature's beauty. We love rain and snow, and we both hate the desert. We don't mind staying in, watching movies and playing video games when we're broke. Ha! – Neither of us is rich, but we're both committed to making do with what we have. We take walks just because. We go to dog parks even though we don't own a dog because the playful atmosphere makes us happy. We love zoos, museums, art galleries – basically anything we can explore together.
We complement each other, and I love that. We need each other, and I love that even more.
So, yes, I'll keep writing about you. You might never draw a portrait of me, but you'll surprise me with flowers or chocolates, not because they're easy presents but because you know how much I love them. You'll throw pebbles at my window because your phone died and you'd rather rush to my house to wake me up one morning than charge the damned thing first. You'll ask for my grocery list so that I can cross shopping off my list of things to do before Christmas. You'll give me a back massage even though you do manual work and I work in an office.
You will never write me a poem; you're not a writer. But, my love, to this - your one-person audience - you express more than any venerated artist ever can.