on summary

"and ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."

- khalil gibran, the prophet

so maybe it's time to realize that my love isn't what's needed, anymore. one man can only spend so much time hoping, checking, checking in, crying, writing, thinking, wishing, searching before he comes to know that his love isn't what is loved anymore; that his love isn't worth anything. but i have learned that whether or not i have you, i am happy. it's hard, but i am happy because i know i love you and because i am learning to be a better, more supportive and fun person.

i just want you to know then that my days were spent completely. i enjoyed every present you made, every note you left on my pillow, the pita pizzas we would eat. all the wake up calls so i wouldn't be late for class, snicker-doodles, the reduced rack i always protected for your mother, the phone cards that emptied your bank account just to calm me down, the journal that made sure i didn't miss a moment. the blanket i sleep under, the pictures i look at, the bear in my closet. the amount of subs we ate, the times you threw out my smokes, picking you up drunk. getting high in my bathroom downstairs, listening to owen on my car hood, making you a birthday dinner at hooters. sitting on jordan's roof in the rain singing together, laying on the floor with duke, buying sam a pig, convincing my mom to let us buy beyonce... and failing. making you my broccoli soup, buying you tomato tortellini, being back before dark. watching all of true blood, watching all of hung, convincing you that paris hilton is better than both perez and nicole, listening to the synopsis of every book you read. telling you the first time we talked that i was going to make you fall in love with me (and following through), you being my tigeress, knowing that our love is like a lottery ticket: "sorry just one cherry, play again!" and knowing i'll always play again. waiting in met hospital convinced i had yellow fever, beating up sarah every time i saw her, buying sarah thongs for christmas, you sneaking on lingerie to seduce me, you succeeding in seducing me. loving the fact that your friday nights were filled with literature and tea, finding 'i love you' magnets on my fridge, midnight grocery shopping, making you do shots in my basement, sitting an inch away from your face without kissing. writing songs for you while i lived in a poor village, writing songs for you when i lived in my room. winning over your father, taking care of sarah when i found her in a park passed out drunk, a mid-summer night's dream. making you a mix-tape and introducing "from me, to you," buying you sunflowers in season and out of season, making you a corsage, telling you that i loved you at my prom party. leaving that note on your porch, the seagull olympics, our picnics at the river, super smash brothers... GAME, OVER!!!!, trying to be orlando bloom and keeping you awake to watch the sunrise. painting with you in your backyard, embarrassing you shirtless on riverside drive, paying 450$ dollars just to have the internet in africa. explaining to african people that you were my wife, playing with cats at petsmart, solving every fight before we slept. honking at every person on the street, listening to "marriage" for two years straight every single fucking day, painting my guitar. killing our diet by eating as much capri pizza as we could, buying you a raspberry muffin for your birthday. that tree in optimist park, 150 mosquito bites because of that tree in optimist park, your pool, throwing sarah in the pool, throwing you in the pool. driving your mom to the mechanic, watching you play soccer, loving to watch you play soccer. secretly staying at the university of windsor for you, secretly convincing you that english was better than journalism so you'd stay at the university of windsor with me, stealing our whole wardrobe from american eagle, my favourite dress, buying you so many cameras from russia, africa, canada, the united states, going to mexican town, going to value village. embarrassingly sitting on my bed every time we fell apart talking to my mom and explaining to her that it was the wrong decision because you were the girl i wanted. the pictures you took, the journals you wrote, doing my homework, doing your homework. the way you held my hand, the way i rubbed your back, how you pulled my hand over you every time i faced the wall... god i fucking wish i never faced that wall. the way you kissed me, even when i was being stubborn... i enjoyed every moment. i loved loving you.

so i'm left with these words...

love will thread a blanket, from me to you, that we will both sleep under.

i'm really sorry i didn't say these things months ago when i fucking should have. but i can only learn from my mistakes and hope that you will believe me.

i love you.