I remember the first time I met you, the jittery drive to your house, a drive I had no idea I’d be making hundreds of times over. Walking in nervous silence, being very aware of every inch between us, every pause in the shaky conversation. My elation when you accepted my invitation to go get lunch. How impossible it was to eat in front of you. Or talk to you, for fear of saying something wrong. 

I remember when you slept over my house. You got here before the others, and I wanted so badly for it to just be us. I wanted to impress you with words but instead choked on them. I slept on the floor next to you and had to turn away, for fear of eye contact. I made breakfast for everyone. We watched videos online and the entire time, it was all I could do to not stare at you and wonder how you managed to be so beautiful all the time.

I remember our first kiss, in your basement, under the silliest circumstances. I regret not kissing you first. I wasn’t confident enough to, but I needed to. I couldn’t feign interest in a movie while you were sitting next to me, holding my hand. Your face was only a few inches from mine. You touched my hair and told me I was beautiful. No one calls me that. I’m assigned a different set of adjectives for being boyish. I wish I had had the courage to kiss you. 

I remember the month you were away in Florida. You were so unbearably far away, and then you were at my front door. That was the first time I kissed you without discretion. I didn’t care if my family was standing behind me, and I put my anxieties aside and kissed you like I hadn’t seen you in years, because really, it was years. Every day you were gone multiplied into weeks. To say I couldn’t wait for you to come back is an understatement. I needed you here with an urgency I didn’t understand and here never experienced before.

I remember all the times we went out to eat, and explore, and spend time together. Countless hours spent in your basement, eating pizza and watching Jimmy Fallon with your parents. Watching The L Word, thereby cementing my status of “gay” into place. Eating all the gluten free foods. Holding your hand everywhere we go, because I like people knowing you’re mine just as much as you like people knowing I’m yours. 

This is the first relationship I’ve been in which I feel completely comfortable to be myself. I am confident that you feel the same for me as I do for you, because you are a fantastic girlfriend and you find ways to show me you love me all the time. Not all of it, I think, is on purpose. And I hope you know how in love with you I am. You must by now. This entire blog is just dedicated to you, basically. I just want you to know how much you mean to me. It’s a lot.