You say I never write about you. It’s true.
Not exactly true. You are in everything I write.
You are part of how I am able to be
So yes I have written about you.
But tonight it is in a conversation with another lover that I think of you that I am reminded of you.
I am saying that you are French and you wear scent and I don’t think that the French are allowed to not wear scent and this makes me giggle.
And that what you wear is perfect for you and not too much and just enough. Just like you are not too much and just enough.
I say that you are polished, and smooth, and slick, and you wear cufflinks (you wear cufflinks that I made for you) and you always look perfect and that I love when I cause you
That it makes me happy.
I know how happy it makes you to have me undo you.
I smile for the smile in my voice and my lover can hear that smile and he knows that smile.
He has heard that smile. He has made me make that smile.
You have allowed me to be open about who I am
what I want
how I know my worth.
Your vulnerability with me has allowed me to feel safe, and worthy, and brave.
You have trusted me, and gained my trust.
I can depend on the memory of you.
I have learned the importance of being wanted instead of needed.
Desired. Ached for, pined for. Lusted after and well missed. Treasured. Cherished.
“I just want to say I love you
And make sure you feel it every day
‘Cause if today had been my last chance
It’s just something I wanted to say”
Je t’aime. Je t’adore.
(you have a playlist. this is on it)