The Number 6.Mature

Dear...You (I think that pretty much covers it, it being everything),

   Fate, or coincidence if you so choose to call it such, is really as the old cliche says: a funny, fickle thing.

   Just when we are least expecting something yet hoping for it with all our might is when it finally happens--is when you finally utter those so longed-for words: I miss you. So uh, I miss you; to be exact. The slight awkwardness only makes it cute darling. Like Micheal Cera (and trust me, being compared to him is a very good thing).

   I wish I could tell you how much I wanted to hear that--hear anything--from you. I wish I could tell you how many times I came so close to, well, screaming your name from the rooftops. I wish I could express how truly and deeply I missed you; I wish I could show you how grave an understatement the word "missed" is. I wish I had something more than just "I love you;" three mere words uttered by so many others. I wish I had some way of conveying...everything. What you mean, who you make me, how you make my world...sparkle.

   But I just don't have the words: You stole them all away with my breath and my heart.

   You hold in your hands all that I am, and have for a very long time. "I've waited over a year" you said. God knows I have. So enough with this silly waiting game already: end your endless "maybe" crusade. Give me the one word I crave, the one thing I desire more than anything else.

   Give me a Yes. Undeniable, concrete, absolute, unchanging YES. That is what I want from you.

   I watched Paper Heart earlier today, which is rather ironic (as this whole day has been, right down to the musical accompaniment of an ice cream truck--a bloody ice cream truck!) as I had long pictured it as a sort of "our movie." You must admit, the very concept behind it of "is love real?" is a very large part of our own story. So that is why, now as I write this, I think of the oh-so-dramatic end to that movie involving cops and motorcycles.

How is it she says that? We can't waste all our time asking "what if." If we ever want to know, then we have to take the risk.

Yeah, I think it's something like that.

So here's me, hopefully ending this written journal, minus the flames and the high speed chase, with her words, in the hope that we can take that risk together and you will be, once more and hopefully for a good while, the keeper of all my thoughts and secrets--rather than these public pieces of electronic paper.


Me (shouldn't it just be that simple: a You and a Me?)

The End

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