Not for the faint-stomached

I loved getting your email, it was like getting a love letter in a way. It felt nice that you’d thought about me and cared enough to send me a message even though there was nothing important to say. Although, of course, everything you have to say to me or about us is important. I do feel a bit distant from you right now in a tiny way, I feel I should text you more, you always seem to send the last message and I feel kind of bad because I don’t give you more, but you always come out with some funny quip that I have no real response to, and ‘ha ha’ gets tired.

I get really down when you’re not here, it’s like seasonal affective disorder. You really are my sun. You’re my everything. You don’t know it, because you tell me you love me so much, I’ll never know how much, you say, I’ll never know what I mean to you. Which tells me volumes. It tells me you probably think I mean more to you than you mean to me. Which could be right, who knows, but I want you to know that I do love you a huge big lot, and I don’t think you could possibly love me any more than that. And I know I never will quite know, because you can’t quantify it, even in your own mind, your own feelings, you can never pinpoint things like this. And I don’t think I’ll ever know exactly what you mean to me for the same reason, except that you’re a beautiful human being and I’m so grateful you noticed me and chased me and I want to please you every day and I can’t bear it when we’re apart and all I think about in that time is how the next time I see you can come sooner, and I fantasise. About us having sex and me running and jumping into your arms when we meet which never happens because that’s only in movies and really when we see each other it’s usually too far or too close to do that, you know when it’s too far and you couldn’t run all that way and do it because it’d just take too long and be weird? And you’ll say ‘do it anyway, I’d love it’, which will make me happy and we’ll both smile, longer for me, and inside for even longer than that.

I love writing to you, it gives me a sense of achievement and purpose – I guess happiness and love pretty much seem the whole point of everything to me, and the way I can share it with you makes me feel warm inside, not just because you love me and I love you and that rocks the fucking world because it’s so rare and amazing, but because it makes me love myself for being a part of this.

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