Little Talks

11 March 2013

Darling, 

I'm not very good at a lot of things, I'm sure we both know that. 

I'm not an aritst; I can not paint you pictures or draw out my feelings for you because the things roaming inside the depths of my mind simply can not be translated into a proper language. 

I'm not a musician; I can not sing to you for my voice has the uncanning habit of driving itself flat. Nor can I serenade you with the help of an instrument, because my fingers fumble over the strings or keys or buttons easily because my mind runs into overdrive at the thought of your expression while watching me. 

I'm not a cook; I can not whip up a flawless dish with all the right ingredients and feed you chocolate covered strawberries before kissing you softly. The chocolate will surely drip and ruin your favorite blouse. 

There a lot of things I can not do - things I'm sure you wish that I could do, but I simply can not. 

But I can brush my fingers through your hair and gently rid of the knots formed from the gentle gusts of wind floating about outside.

I can work the knots out of your hair and your back after you've had a long day at work. 
I can hum your favorite song to you while holding you close and dropping kisses over your skin while you breath softly. 

I can write you notes and letters such as these, because seeing the small smile on your face with the measley slip of fabric or paper or plastic that I manage to write these words on, in your hand, and the faint blush across your high cheeks... that sight warms me to my very core. 

I'm not good at a lot of things, we both know that, but I can assure you that I am good for you; and I know this because you and your little things - they're perfect for me.