in love on wednesday evening

anniversary letter

John —

I like that you think my teeth are hot. I like that you eat cold tofu straight out of the carton, still dripping. I like that you rub your feet together like a dirty little fly before getting into my bed. I like that you don’t abide by arbitrary rules like I sometimes do, so we can drive to the beach at 11 PM to throw shelf-stable vegan shrimp into the Pacific Ocean. I like that you never flinch. I want to make you flinch.

I like that you get all my jokes, or else have a very convincing fake laugh. I like how quickly you say ‘yes’, even when it gets you into trouble. I like that you’re the type to slip ‘n’ slide down a bowling lane headfirst, consider blood donation a romantic date, and let me tear off your toe blisters with my sexy teeth. I like the soft sadness in your attention when I’m sharing something hard.

I like that you keep a running Apple note with every new person you meet after cup cup shows. I like your hippie neuroses: germs, digital privacy, sufficient plant protein consumption. I like how enthusiastically you compliment waitstaff, as if they specially developed each menu item just for you. I like how you offer to pick me up from the airport every single time.

I like when you tell me about your dad. I like when you teach me about bugs and recycling. I like that you’re from SF proper and know how to speak Spanish and have a big family with lots of personality. I like that you’re not weird about being smart, or about me collecting your hair off the salon floor to save for “special projects”. I like that you still love all your exes.

I like that you promise you’d kill me in hypothetical thought experiments so I know I can trust you in actual real life. I like that you got me two different cakes for my birthday. I like when you make your special noises, like that growly one with your jaw set, or that frustrated mmmmph with your hands splayed and insistent, or any of the ones that sound like this: sweet dreams sweet Brit, good morning love, I can’t wait!

I like your singing, how you fill my life with exclamation. I like that you’re a real diva when it comes to your art. I like when you flutter your eyelashes like “What, who, me?” I like cradling your head in my arms and pretending I can protect you from everything. I like how hard you work to take care of the people you love. I like how you can’t do anything poorly. I like that you’re always telling me “thank you” even when I’m doing nothing at all. I like that you’re universally beloved — and that you know it. I like our shared understanding that the most romantic place we can be is in each other’s Google Calendar.

I like how fucking pretty you are. I like your velvet skin like cream in a bowl. I like your impossibly, aggravatingly cute nose, your hard-angled brows, your catalog-perfect ears. I like your unusually small hands and your enviably present hair. I like your hot teeth. I like the mischief in your eyes when you’re onstage. I like your buccal-fat-free cheeks, how they provide ergonomic divots for my thumbs when I pull you in for a kiss. I like that you’re a glutton for physical touch. I like when you mash your face against mine.

I like picturing you doing everyday tasks: swimming laps, eating a banana in your Prius, flossing. I like remembering you exist. I like the thrum I feel when I look into your eyes, like all good things convening for a party in my solar plexus. I like how you know the world can wound you and open yourself to it anyway.

I like that you let me love you so hard. I like that you revel in it.

I Iove being in love with you.

Happy anniversary,

Brit