Long gone are the days of flooded parks and tragic seventeen year old love, of chaste touches that burned and a maddeningly beautiful tortured lost poet boy. Those days, everything hurt and nothing seemed possible except for the inevitable break. All the beautiful words in the world could do nothing for us.
I'm older now and since then, I've left behind our home and wandered the world, which turned out to be far more wonderful and terrible than I could've ever imagined.
Here, I found you.
There are many names for this place, but none of them really matter when we are here existing at the same time.
There's a Gabriel Garcia Marquez quote that I ripped that off from but you know that already.
Tell me to describe my perfect man and he would look nothing like you. You're shorter than me, wear briefs rather than boxers, prefer boring white people food and classic rock, have the smallest apartment I've seen in my life, have a stupid mustache, and you aren't actually as good at piano as you think you are.
But you clean my kitchen for me after I cook, and you pick me up from class at Madeleine and put up with my scattered brain, my annoying friends, my various neuroses. You're kind and self reliant and funny and just cautious enough to keep me out of trouble, but still adventure with me. You play music and sing for me and you hold me tight when I cry and God, the sight of a slant of sun is resting on your bare back is the most beautiful thing I've seen in my life and I love you.