February 6th, 2009

(no subject)

I spent all day with you. I spent all day being admired by you, being helped by you, being impressed by you; enjoying your company to the fullest extent that was humanly possible. You hide behind the fact that you were trying as hard as you could to impress me, but your charm came across effortlessly and I'd be lying if I told you that any smile that ran across my face at any point during the day was a fake one; my teeth having a field day with the world. You are so open with your love and although sometimes it is intimidating, it is flattering and remarkable. You are truly an artist of this medium.

And now today there stands before us a long list of adventures to embark on. We don't just go outside, we voyage out to sea, arms linked as we skip around in circles singing pirate songs. The day is beautiful. Flurries from the sun are ready to kiss our cold cheeks and I'm ready to find you that perfect ensemble for the white party tonight. I'm ready to sculpt "Pancake" out of a solid block of ice with you. I'm ready to get into a twenty-friend food fight complete with rainbow sprinkles. I'm ready to woo every person in Burlington who works at JDK until you practically work there, too. I'm ready to do things I don't think I would have had the courage to do had I not met you, and I'm ready to do a lot more.

You watched me put that wrapper in my wallet this morning like it was my way of carving another notch into my bedpost. I could tell you didn't want me to paste it into a book and forever solidify you as nothing more than a wrapper on a page and the mediocre memory that came attached to it. Was I not on my way out I would have ripped your hands from your ears and told you that a condom wrapper on a page was a miniscule memory of you in comparison to the novels I could write about your love even if you or I had never reciprocated. You are changing my life; a wrapper on a page could never do that.

Ethan O'Hara, you are not one of my sluts.