You're writing a letter to your boyfriend...
Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like without you. It would suck a lot, I think. Yeah sure, sometimes I still feel like I'm drowning. But you see me, and you help me when I need you. I would still be stuck on people from my past, most likely. Now when I think about those people, it doesn't hurt as much. It used to be devastating. It used to be so painful that I was consumed by it. But now, it's just a small pinprick, if anything.
Sometimes I worry that you'll get bored of me. Everyone has gotten bored of me. People I've trusted to stay have left. But when it comes down to it, I trust you a hell of a lot more than I trusted those people. Those people had red flags popping up left and right. But you? I see no red flags with you. I've seen red flags with most everyone in my life. But not with you.
And that does seem strange to me. You're so utterly amazing that I don't even see the red flags to then promptly ignore. I could be blind, yes. But for once, I know I'm not. Because I see your flaws. I see the amazing parts and the not-so-amazing parts of you. But they aren't red flags. They're just...you. And I love your flaws, too. Seeing someone as utterly perfect is just blindness. Nobody is perfect. You, however, are as perfect as you can be. You're imperfectly perfect. I love the good and the bad. Because they make you you. And I love who you are.
You look at the words you've written. You could write him a thousand letters. When you get a pen and paper, it's as if the words simply flow out from your fingertips. You love writing about him. You love writing to him. You simply love it. You can't always express yourself through spoken words—that's his specialty. But you sure as hell can express yourself through your writing.
You fold the paper and put it in an envelope.
Standing up, you go into the kitchen where your boyfriend is eating his blueberries. Fucking blueberry headass. You love him, though.
"I wrote you something," you say, and he throws a blueberry at you. You manage to catch it and pop it in your mouth. Living with him has prepared you for projectiles on a regular basis.
"What is it?" he asks, taking the paper from you.
"I don't know. I just started writing."
"Is it about a dog?"
"It's about you, dumbass," you respond, sitting down across from him and taking a blueberry from the bowl. You watch as he takes the paper from the envelope and unfolds it before starting to read.
"Don't look at me while I'm reading," he says, turning around so you can't see his face. You roll your eyes playfully as he reads, occasionally nodding or making a confirming noise dramatically. "I'm perfect. Shut the fuck up," he says, but you can hear that his voice is thick.
You try not to smile, but you can't help it: your lips turn up into a smirk. He turns around and looks at you.
"I'm so fucking perfect," he tells you, and you stifle a laugh.
"You sure are," you say, and he stands up.
"You ass, trying to make me cry again," he says, pulling you into a hug.
"That's my ultimate goal in life: to make you cry."
"Fully aware." He sniffles slightly, and before you can say anything, he says, "Fuck you for making me all emo. It's not emo time."
"It's always emo time," you respond, and he pulls away to look at your face.
"I hate you," he says, but he's smiling.
"Hate you, too, dumbass," you tell him before kissing him. He smiles against you, and you giggle slightly.
"I actually love you," he mumbles.
You pull him a little closer. "I love you, too."
not really sure what this was but anyway