You

A few weeks ago, we finally mustered up a year's worth of courage to finally say it. It was kind of cute at first. A subtle mouth twitch, followed by the mouthing of the words.

And then at dinner, I looked at you and I mouthed it as well.

The next day, I looked you straight in the eyes and somehow we both said it at the same time.

"I love you"

Flustered, of course, because it feels weird the first time you tell someone those words. Words that one of us has learned to restrict and the other has never thought of saying. And yet somehow, as if by chance, we both felt compelled to say it to each other.

Today, you looked me dead in the eyes and said "I'm really glad you took me back."

And all I could muster was a weak noise from the back of my throat. I would have liked for that to mean more than what I ended up saying: "Me too."

What I wanted to say was this: I'm really glad that I had gambled everything I had on you. My emotions rested squarely on your inability to open up. My heart upon your shoulders. It was like playing a game of blackjack that you know you can't win. But somehow, by amazing odds, I won. Out of the millions of different things that could have happened, we somehow were given a second chance at each other. The king's gambit paid off. And there's a part of me that still looks at you each time and remembers all that pain and suffering you put me through. Nine months of anguish that not even the strongest drink could stifle.

Those messages where you told me to ease the fuck up.

The texts where you didn't respond for days or weeks.

The late night call on St. Patty's day where you told me you had your heart broken.

The night I felt like I was dying. What the fuck was I thinking?

And somehow I just kept telling myself "It'll be ok, one day." There's the other part of me that looks at you, lying next to me with your eyes closed, hand clenched around mine, head resting on my chest, and does nothing but smile. Because that's all I can manage. Not because I can't express my feelings; far from it. When we're tickled, why of all our primal responses do we laugh? It's all we can manage because we don't know what else to do.

So I just smile. And a little chuckle escapes my mouth. You turn upward and give me that look (you know which one) and say "Whaaaaat?"

And I just smile again and say "You."

That's what I meant to say.