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You are Beautiful.

"You are Beautiful."

This is the first thing I've written in a long time, and it's very rambly. Nonetheless, I hope you like it.
You're snuggling next to me. You're warm and beautiful. So beautiful. Sitting together with you like this makes me feel beautiful.

But you confuse me. We've been in and out of a relationship before and here I am, clinging on waiting for little scraps of love to fall from the sky. And there you are, flirting with me in your own little way without love, leading me to believe you feel the same. So I live with what we have. Resting my head on your shoulder is good enough for me. That will be my place for whenever I feel like loving you.

We do have love now in friendship. Our friendship is so profound but so confusing. But when we're together I try to forget the confusion and just be close to you. We sit under your mother's afghan and I laugh. Your mother's been in denial in so long and I'm sure your mother hates me very much because I probably remind her of the fact that you're a lesbian and she doesn't want to remember it. But she's aware of it, and she could be a lot worse. She could have banned me from your house; she could have done a lot more than comment that we're spending "a lot of time together lately" even though we've only spent a few days together recently. Now she just comes in at our tender moments to talk about knitting.

"I see you like my afghan. It took me about two years to make. I called it the 'Afghan from Hell' because it was such a pain."

I should have never told her I'm a knitter, though it was inevitable. She saw that scarf I made you and was sure to point out where I messed up. It was plain and simple garter stitch, but I dropped some stitches and picked the wrong ones up. It's a good scarf, though. The yarn is soft and it's thick and if you fold it up you can make a little pillow. As I stitched, I tried to put our good memories into it, from our beginnings walking around the school track to the stolen kisses to the long nights spent awake baking muffins. I want those memories to keep you warm. I want you to be happy that you own such a warm scarf when the air is bitter cold.

We talked today about how our Christmas trees have fallen down before and watched a bad movie and you snuggled up close to me and gave me a hat you made with your own hands. You said you hated knitting, but you made me a hat. That was more romantic than any gift I've ever received, even though you probably didn't mean for it to convey that sort of message. You put effort into it. I love it. Knowing you made it makes me love it even more.

I was happy under that afghan next to you and even though I was too hot I loved your warmth. I love being close to you. That warmth and your smell comfort me. I don't know how I feel about you anymore. But I'd love to put my head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat and close my eyes and feel that warmth again. And if the tree was to fall again in a house that belonged to you and me we'd laugh together and use our strength to put it up again. But we probably wouldn't have a tree if we lived together. We're atheists. So we'd just stay in that position and I'd be happy and I'd hope you'd be happy too. Because truly, your happiness is my happiness and whatever makes you truly happy makes me warm and makes you beautiful.
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