Thinking

To: You
Love:
From: Me

We always talk about running away to Italy, about how we'll be hopelessly in love and live off of the charity of an old Italian couple until we can find jobs. You say we'd have cute little kids, because we're both so cute that they're bound to be cute. I decided we'd need a home by the sea side and one up in the mountains, both with lots of glass and pictures. We'd take lots of cute pictures, because we're both so cute that they're bound to be cute. We would own a dog.
Or at least, I think so.

You tell me about how you would love to live next to me. We'd run over at odd times and have long conversations, some of them ending in a waltz, some of them ending with our favorite jokes. You like to tell jokes, and I like to laugh. We make a great pair.
Or at least, I think so.

Sometimes I can't tell if you think we'd be great. They tell me you're no good, trouble, just like that Taylor Swift song that they listen to. Yeah, I think you're trouble too. But I kind of like your trouble... I like you. I like you like a student likes to write on desks. It seems harmless at first, but it's an addiction that drives the people who have to clean up crazy. You're driving my friends crazy. They wouldn't mind if you left. But I would.
Or at least, I think so.

You like to use words a lot. I've tried to see if I could figure out which words are real and which are not, but it's like trying to listen to only one voice in a five-part harmony, or only the cello in the orchestra's performance of Adagio in G Minor. I want to believe all of them, I want to not have to keep my reactions in check. I want you to mean all of them, I want you to not care if I keep my reactions in check. I want you to unleash the feelings that I keep pent up in fear, to unleash their magnificence and glory. Not for the world, but for you. I don't want all of them to see, but I don't care if they do. All I want is for you to know that they're there, and they're yours, and they're mine, and they're ours.
Or at least, I think so.

I hate that I confuse you, I hate that you confuse me, I hate that emotions are confusing. They're as confusing as

I couldn't think of anything as confusing. Tell me if you come up with something. For now I'll just pull a *Faulkner.

--P.A.

*William Faulkner, a rather renowned writer, liked to get creative and leave blanks in the middle of his writing. I guess he thought it was cool. Or maybe he's just a genius and laughs at us mere mortals that think he did it just to be cool.