A Sappy And Semi-Coherent Post (Sometimes I Just Can't Help Myself)

Today marks the eight-month anniversary of my first date with MTL and the first time I met him face-to-face, although we had been communicating through e-mail and text and phone conversations for a little while before.

Eight months. I know: I feel a little silly keeping track of each month's anniversary, and it's not like we're doing some big shindig for it (though I think we'll do something special for the one year mark), but I did notice the date this morning and its significance popped into my head and I said something about it to MTL.

(No, I didn't make him try to guess its significance, although he's pretty good at remembering these things anyhow, because those games feel too manipulative to me. I'm nice that way. Not in many other ways, but that way.)

Honestly, it always comes as a little surprise to me that it's only been that long, since it feels like we've known each other for years instead of months. It's all very sappy and mushy and I'm honestly a little embarrassed about it even though I shouldn't be.

Anywho, I've been feeling sentimental and I tried to write a poem and apparently the path between my brain and fingers/mouth is corrupted today because I can barely put one coherent sentence together, verbally or written. But there is a poem by the ever marvelous e. e. cummings that fits (and oh I wish I could write like him and Carl Sandburg and Ann Lamott and a host of other amazing people, but I'll just have to settle for what I have) and so here you go:

"I carry your heart"

I carry your heart
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear ;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

--e. e. cummings

I love you, MTL. Always will. Thank you for entrusting your heart with me. You know you have mine.