I told you last night that I did not have a list for you.  That if you were to walk away tomorrow, and I wanted to jot down things about you that I never, ever wanted to forgot or grow bitter against, I would be at a loss.

Because you are not things to me.  You are not places.  You are not movies, or songs, or activities.

And you were right; in the beginning, you were a list.  I had a list that was “you.”  It had things on there like “lime green jello” and “peeps soup” and “chicken wings” that now mean NOTHING to me.  I have no idea how we came upon those, or what they meant, or why I still chuckle when I read them.  I saw your Peep hanging from your mirror the other day and wondered, “Why in the hell did I give him that?”

What I have for you are simply emotions.  I say “simply”, but they’re not simple.  And I’m afraid that, should you walk away tomorrow, I would forever be changed in so many ways with no way to thank you.  So I try and thank you each and every day, in small little fashions, and hope that you fall asleep knowing how much you are truly appreciated.

You have been patient with me when I was stubborn.  You have been kind to me when I was unloving.  You have been calm to me when I was a whirlwind.  Learning to live with a boy was much harder than I anticipated; you made it so much easier by being you and letting me be me.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I have never been the helpless little damsel.  I have never been incomplete, searching for some final piece to my puzzle.  But you have made it easy to let myself be loved, and your love is milk and honey in a concrete world.

I contemplated last night, when you stirred and pulled me closer to you, how I had shunned any kind of affection before you.  I did not like to cuddle.  I did not like being touched.  I did not like anyone inside of my space bubble.  But your “forbidden” forehead kisses and wide arms have made me rethink how I like to be loved.  I love your hands in my hair, and I can’t sleep without my head on your chest.  These things are new; these are things I want forever.

Tonight, we move into OUR first house.  We will be tired, exhausted, with terrified and nervous animals, and most likely I will be ready to pull my hair out because I don’t know where my socks are, but I know that, in the end, we will fall asleep next to eachother, ready to start this next chapter.  And things will be fine.  Good, even.

And we will spend Friday making a list of things we need to do.  That’s the only list I need.