I have a slight confession, something I’ve been meaning to tell you: Darling, I have no idea how to let you make me this happy. I’ve never been one to be skeptical, but I’ve also been pricked by too many thorns lately to be so quick to trust the beauty of what appears to be a rose.
I swear I was once fearlessly trusting in love; unfortunately you’ve come into my life at a time when I’m cautiously optimistic at best. You’ve come at a time when I find myself alone in a new city, far away from everyone and everything I’ve ever known. You’ve come where I find myself at a crossroads of who I was and who I’m trying to become.
Brace yourself sweetheart; I’m going to briefly let you in on a few more secrets:
First and foremost, I will find it extremely hard to give myself up to your care and attention. The simple truth is that I’m just not used to being treated so well. I might even try to run before I allow myself to fall too hard, in an effort to avoid getting hurt—I won’t want you to let me get away, though. I will test the strength of this string, pulling it taut, but I won’t let it snap. You’ll have to give me a little space at times, but please pull me back.
I will often wonder what it is you could possibly see in me. My insecurities will run rampant when passersby compliment your flawless beauty, and I’ll want to pull you closer as you laugh it off. It will remind me that you are so far out of my league, but at the same time, it will make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world as I catch a glimpse of your hand intertwined with mine.
I will rest easy on Sunday afternoons with your head on my shoulder and the sounds of gypsy-like melodies filling the apartment. I will be perfectly content in these daytime moments swapping childhood stories and sipping on cappuccinos; but through the nights I will sleep restlessly wrapped in your arms, only until I’m absolutely sure they’re safe and can be trusted.
I will stumble across your perfect body, slowly taking in every inch of you, afraid of missing even the smallest bit. My fumbling will reveal my lacking years of experience, but my hesitation will prove my immense respect and adoration. I hope you meant it when you said patience was at the core of your character; you’re going to need it with me.
Lastly, I will be equal parts intimidated and refreshed by your honesty and forwardness. I’m so used to the childish games that people play, and their nonchalant nature when it comes to emotions, that your pure truthfulness catches me off guard. I won’t always know how to respond right away, but if you give me a moment to collect my thoughts, you might be pleasantly surprised.
I’m nervous—I told myself I would be more cautious with the dreams and plans this next time.
And yet each night as I walk home with the Manhattan skyline to my right and immaculate brownstones to my left, I find myself peeping in the windows as I saunter past, allowing myself to figure out where that grand piano you always speak of will go. Wouldn’t it look nice tucked into that front corner? I’ll teach your fingers to dance across the ivory over a glass of Cabernet baby, don’t you worry about that.
My eyes move down from the bay windows and onto the stoops, where the day’s Wall Street Journals are waiting for their subscribers, still wrapped in plastic. I start to imagine us sitting at the kitchen table, (once you actually start to wake up on time), sharing the news over a full pot of coffee before we go our separate ways for the next 12 hours. It’ll be ground fresh every day because unlike me, you prefer your morning cup to taste as good as it possibly can, whereas I just need to gulp something down quickly to come back to life.
I’m standing outside your apartment building, punching this away into my phone as you walk up from the opposite direction, two bags of groceries on your arms. You greet me with a kiss and I ask to take a bag but grab the door instead. You turn the key, smiling back at me. There’s a look in your eyes that makes me want to throw my caution to the wind. It’s a look saying, “Welcome home.”