Dear... My Lover Boy
I'm gutted knowing that soon our lives will go on and you will no longer have an excuse to talk to me. I've spent two years basking in your light, at times from a distance, and at other times resting in your arms.
I am drawn to you like no other, and it's not because you're perfect. You are oceans away from perfect; you're insecure, cowardly, self absorbed, power-hungry, and reactive. I've seen you at your absolute worst and you've seen me at mine. I haven’t even covered all the ways you're messed up. But you're perfect for me. I don't know if I believe in a god, but if there is one than I know that he made you just for me. He curled your dark hair with his fingertips and sent you into my life.
I want to stand behind you when we're on film sets and rub your shoulders, I want to argue with you in dressing rooms for no reason, I want you on every Christmas morning for the rest of my life, I want to beat you at Scrabble and pick out monogrammed hand towels together. I want to sit in the passenger seat of your life with your hand resting on my knee.
You infuritate me. I want to get on my knees and beg you to forgive me for the heartbreak I've put you through, for the things I could've said to you when it was still okay to say them, for the days I could've looked at you just a little bit longer.
For somebody who recovers from her losses so easily I am in shambles over you, even when you're right in front of me. I've made the discovery that even though I'm a very good actress, I have a terrible poker face. Everyone can smell my feelings for you on my breath like it's liquor; I can't stop your laugh from seeping out of my pores. I'm intoxicated by my own despair. You've made a poet out of your muse and I'll never forgive you for how much I love you.