Last Saturday, while we sat waiting for the movie to begin, you asked me if I loved you. Of course, I was my charming self and told you I did. Then you asked me why. I stammered and stuttered and gave you some standard answers, that only a boy could muster. You seemed happy enough with what I said, and that was that.
Over the past week however, your question has echoed in my head, over and over. Did I answer how I truly feel? Were these the real reasons that I love you? While I’ve now decided that yes, everything I did say was true, there is more to say. Not to the question of why I love you, but rather, to the question of how I know that I love you. This might better explain how I feel about you, the depth of my love.
I care about you. I actually want to know how you are, and am concerned for you when you are down. I’m happy when you’re happy, sad when you’re sad. I want to make things better when you’re hurt, and help you up when you fall.
I’m interested in your day. How your classes were, who you met up with for lunch and what you and your friends are planning for the weekend. Why you bought those new shoes and why Mrs Harris is a bitch.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love the sex. Love it! But it’s not all I think about. When I wake in the morning and think of you, I wonder if you dreamt of me. When I’m running by the lake, I think how great it would be if you were running beside me. When I eat my breakfast, I’m thinking that you’ll already be at work, making lattes for people on their way to work. (I know how you hate getting up early to work). And when I’m in my studio, I wonder if you’re about to fall asleep in class.
Does this explain it? This is how I know I love you Cherie. My thoughts of you are pure and honest, sincere and innocent, natural and intimate. I wanted to share these thoughts with you. I wanted you to know how deeply this love is planted within me.
See you tonight.
P.S. Stop by the studio before dinner, I have a surprise.