Well, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve blogged, or even written something at all, so enjoy this thing that I wrote last night at 11:30 PM. I hope it makes you feel something.
I’ve never been in love before, but you make me believe it’s possible. I don’t know what else this could be, and yet it surprises me. My heart and brain are tearing themselves apart trying to decipher you.
They say love is butterflies when you walk in the room. They say it’s sparks when your hands brush. They say it’s head over heels, tumbling helplessly. But I don’t feel any butterflies. When you walk in the room, I smile because I know I have a friend here, a safe hub in the chaos. When our hands brush, I don’t feel any sparks. I smile because you’re a rock I can hold onto, or just stand near, to feel safer. And I never fell head over heels. I guess I’m tumbling in such slow motion, I didn’t realize I was tumbling till I turned and looked back up the hill. That’s when I realized, ever so slightly, things had shifted.
I never fell head over heels. I guess I’m tumbling in such slow motion, I didn’t realize I was tumbling till I turned and looked back up the hill. That’s when I realized, ever so slightly, things had shifted.
I love how you listen when I talk about my day. I love how you buy extra food so I can share. It’s adorable how bad you are at directions. I love how you play “air drums,” hunched over when your song comes on.
I love how you glance at me during movies to see if I’m laughing. I love how you raise your hands in worship, how you hunch over in prayer. I love how you sing at the top of your lungs at concerts (yet somehow stay on key). I love how you make me laugh–and how I make you laugh. I love the little details you remember about me, about my math test and my friend’s doctor appointment and my cat’s birthday. I love how we play iMessage games late into the night and talk on Facetime early into the morning. I love how bad you are at social media, and I laugh helplessly at how you never text back because you’re trying to find the right words. I don’t want the right words. I just want to know that you didn’t die in a car accident or something.
I love how you always hold the door for me. It’s a little thing; it’s probably not even a conscious effort for you. Just natural. I love how you suggest something to do, then say, “We don’t have to if you don’t want.”
We’ve made so many lasting memories which may never last. They’re just added to the background, the meaning behind “I love you,” the sleep deprivation and frustration and overheating and dehydration. You kept me sane. I love how we look at each other when someone does something stupid and sigh at the state of humanity.
Sometimes you say something so violently you that I can’t help but respond, “You’re an idiot. I love you.” When you’re excited your eyes get wide and your mouth gets round and you whack my shoulder like a little kid. Sometimes you poke me with a pen until I smack you, then you look at me, barely containing laughter, and I’m reminded of the little boys who try to get a girl’s attention by being as annoying as possible.
There are so many more things I love about you, things that I can’t get off my mind as I lay awake, things that I may never have the courage to tell you. I could write forever about you, the little quirks I’m still learning, the stupid jokes we snort at, the deep talks that take place on the phone at 11 PM.
You told me “love waits,” and I know you’re right. I’m thankful we can still be best friends and all these loves can still exist platonically. And yet I still wonder if I’m wasting my time, if I’m lovable at all, despite the reassurances you give me. I don’t know if I’m in love with you or with the idea of you. You told me once, “I envy the man who ends up with you,” and yet I still doubt whether you even like me.
I pray that someday God’s plan comes into the light. Whether my future is with you, or someone else, or alone, I have still loved you. My little brother, the one who hangs out with me when no one else will, my best friend. I pray over your future, whether or not I’m in it. Thank you for showing me how tragically exuberant love can be.