the first draft

I found this in a box in my room. it smells like cigarettes and makes me feel nostalgic and somewhat angry. …

Hi, from the moment I met you, I knew. Two people weren’t just coincidently made to feel that way about each other. This is how it happens…this is how the stories our parent and grandparents told our youth came to be. The I dos and sashes of silk and endless memories needed to start somewhere. The looks of endless love into the eyes of two people who would want nothing more but to remain in the other’s arms for all eternity, the thought of wanting to kill the other but repenting any negativity after one simple smile. Love. It has to start somewhere. For us, it started with me memorizing every crevice and contour of your face before even knowing your name. For me, speaking to myself and imagining your response was all I needed. When you first spoke words was the moment I knew. A million galaxies and universes combined and intertwined and the stars laughed, because, for once, something went right. Sure, our words sometimes resulted in broken promises and cracked lungs and weeping hearts and bloody knuckles and holes in walls and tear jerking and mothers laughing and weight losing and hair thinning and compulsive eating and toe curling and lip biting and face punching and minds clashing and nail breaking; however, it was enough. You told me you thought of life differently, and were thankful that I did too…I always question whether that was true, whether you wanted the idea of being the same. I wanted that too, so it was okay. The further I get, the more reasons I can add to hating you. But none if them, not one, can make me stop loving you…So why not?