Dear Miles, I’m not easy to love, or to live with. I know this. I don’t trust or forgive easily. I’m damaged and thorny and demanding. I leave stacks of paper everywhere. I’m not good at grand romantic gestures. For me, emotion in general, and love in particular, is deeply, fundamentally private. I don’t know how to wear my heart to my sleeve. Maybe I’m afraid of the pins it would take to hold it there. Maybe I’m afraid it would fall. I’m not good at Valentine’s Day. . We’ve known each other since junior high school. We grew up together. We’ve been together, in some form or another, for nearly half our lives. I think we expected that by this time, it would be easy. That we’d fit together so naturally that we’d never even have to think about it. I think a lot of our friends assumed that we always had. It’s not easy. When you grow up with someone, in the context of a relationship—I think maybe it insulates you from some of the growing up that most people have to do. I think I’ve just starting to do a lot of that. The last few years have felt like an almost adolescent upheaval. Crisis; growth; crisis; struggling for footing on shaky ground, as individuals and as a couple. For the first time in my life, I’ve questioned whether I can even do this. . Today is Valentine’s Day. . I’m still struggling to find footing. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to stand. Maybe I never knew. But whether or not I believe in myself—I believe in you. I believe in who you make me want to be. I believe in us. . I’m not good at grand, romantic gestures. . But I love you. With all my bluster and all my awkwardness. With all my teeth and toes. With all my fire. With all my difficult, thorny heart. . Always, Rachel . P.S. I made you this.

Dear Miles,

I’m not easy to love, or to live with. I know this. I don’t trust or forgive easily. I’m damaged and thorny and demanding. I leave stacks of paper everywhere.

I’m not good at grand romantic gestures. For me, emotion in general, and love in particular, is deeply, fundamentally private. I don’t know how to wear my heart to my sleeve. Maybe I’m afraid of the pins it would take to hold it there. Maybe I’m afraid it would fall.

I’m not good at Valentine’s Day.

.

We’ve known each other since junior high school. We grew up together. We’ve been together, in some form or another, for nearly half our lives.

I think we expected that by this time, it would be easy. That we’d fit together so naturally that we’d never even have to think about it. I think a lot of our friends assumed that we always had.

It’s not easy.

When you grow up with someone, in the context of a relationship—I think maybe it insulates you from some of the growing up that most people have to do. I think I’ve just starting to do a lot of that. The last few years have felt like an almost adolescent upheaval. Crisis; growth; crisis; struggling for footing on shaky ground, as individuals and as a couple. For the first time in my life, I’ve questioned whether I can even do this.

.

Today is Valentine’s Day.

.

I’m still struggling to find footing. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to stand. Maybe I never knew.

But whether or not I believe in myself—I believe in you. I believe in who you make me want to be. I believe in us.

.

I’m not good at grand, romantic gestures.

.

But I love you. With all my bluster and all my awkwardness. With all my teeth and toes. With all my fire. With all my difficult, thorny heart.

.

Always,

Rachel

.

P.S. I made you this.

Fin Fang Foom

Notes

  1. postcardsfromspace posted this