I Love You
You've never said it. You've never looked at me with a dreamy, Notebook-esque smile and said "I love you." It's okay. I've never said it, either. It's not a competition. It comes naturally for everyone or at least it should.
I've known you for years. Through the ups and downs, you've been there. You've watched me through relationships and breakups and been there when I needed to vent; you've never complained. You've never judged me. You even laugh at my cheesy, awkward, sometimes not-too-funny-at-all jokes. You know exactly how to push my buttons and get under my skin but you never take advantage of it.
You say those three little words all the time - silently. You constantly show that, if nothing else, I am as important to you as you are to me. The three little words become almost obsolete. Why worry about eight little letters when actions speak so much louder? Why ruin the fun, the laughter by fretting over minute details that in the grand scheme, are just that - minute, irrelevant details. Who cares if you don't word it like some think you should?
They don't know your language.
They don't know that you have brought me back from crushing self-doubt just through a text or two. They don't know that seeing goofy Snapchats pop up on my phone are often the highlight of my day - especially when you sing for me. They don't know that you have dealt with my sweet side, my rough-around-the-edges side, my angry side - even at times when the anger was not meant for you. You have yet to miss my calls. Even the ones that come at two in the morning. You always ask for me to text you when I get home safely. You check up on me. You remember that I have skating practice or a paper due and when I doubt myself, you are constantly encouraging me that I can do anything.
Even a world away, you remind me that I can apply to any job, get any grade, be absolutely anything that I want to be. You constantly remind me I am cared for. Maybe that is why I no longer care about three small words. Showing that you care for me means so much more than rattling off a couple words here and there.
I think I prefer it this way - not that I wouldn't mind hearing it, but the way you say it now is perfect, too.
And no, you're not a boyfriend. You're a best friend. A goofy friend. Sometimes you cook for me and sometimes we eat Chinese food. You're the friend who know I'm ticklish and that I make mistakes and sing songs way too loud and that I snort when I laugh. Thank you for being whatever you are - all that you are.
I love the way you love me.
