And loving you is easy. Loving you is like breathing after being suffocated for hours. Loving you is like being a kid again. Loving you is feeling safe when I’m alone. It’s switching my black coffee and milk to melon tea and honey. It’s accepting that we’ve made mistakes, and growing stronger from them. It’s lying in the yard and getting up to dance when that one song comes on. It’s whispering “this is perfect” and closing your eyes and listening to me talk. Loving you is getting in trouble for climbing on roofs and sleeping in 30 degree cars in the middle of winter. Loving you is strawberries and chocolate and George Orwell’s 1948. Loving you is both young and old at the same time. It’s not painless for there is the pain of feeling like you’re missing from me when you’ve been away too long. It is day dreaming and wondering and being fully consumed by you. It is pure and good and forceful. It is waking up to your smile and knowing it’s all going to be okay. Loving you is mostest. Loving you is a pinky promise. And loving you is always.