I found

myself writing your name today. Over and over until the words and the letters and all the little dots poured out, slowly, toppling over the edges. I wanted to keep you inside, to hold you down. I wanted to box you in as a gift, for myself. I wanted to have you within an arm's reach, always there, always ready.

I would hold you more and more, tighter and tighter everyday. I won't let you go, I can't, I wouldn't know how.

I don't know how I can love you. There are so many reasons for me not to. You're my best friend, I'm supposed to take care of you, and not have the authority to break your heart. (Even though I promise I wouldn't, there is still that possibility.) You're a friggin on-call nurse. Nobody wants to get tied down to second place to their lover's job. You are beautiful, charming, and very lovely, which is scaring the shit out of me. What if you leave because someone else better than me got smitten by you? (Now that is very very very possible.) So I don't really know how I can love you.

But I do. And I can't stop. I just have to love you, to pour your coffee in the morning, to wake you up in kisses, to cook breakfast with you, to have lunch dates with you, to watch basketball games on the sidelines or on TV next to you, to grab a few beers at nights our bodies are craving for alcohol, to let you drive me fast anywhere, to let you read my mind, to let you let me down, to kiss you good night, to curl my body into yours when we sleep, to let me ruffle your hair, to let you leave kiss marks all over me... the list just goes on.

And I now find myself wanting to write your name again. But I guess I've run out of paper. No worries, I think the walls will do.