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Danjamin,
You beat me to the punch, but I had this in-progress. It also isn't a Christmas gift, which makes me delivering it after the fact less egregious, but creating traditions with you makes me very warm everyday, so it's impossible to not think about what you mean to me and I want another marker for that. Memory might be a capture of who someone is at a given time, and right now, I'm so ridiculously, impossibly, head-over-heels for you. Not asking for the hot guy at the bar's number when we stumbled our separate ways that night had all the setup to be one of my biggest regrets, I realize in hindsight, but luckily, you came back, and kept coming back, until we finally wised up and went elsewhere. Not that a dusty floor in Brooklyn was ever going to be much better, but if you were disappointed, I could never tell. I can never tell. Maybe the easy answer would be that I don't disappoint you, but, you know me. Sounds fake. I'll take my smack now.
We've had so many good moments, from all of the cheesy firsts we've had together to the eight hundredth plate of deep fried regret we've had at two in the morning. Though I have to admit, I even look back on things like you throwing up down my back fondly, that time you warned me five times, but I was convinced I had to fireman carry you to the train. Because you were my best friend, any night spent with you was better than any night not, which took me long enough to realize and even longer to admit to. Until we started living it, there was no way for me to fathom how good it would be to come to you every night and wake up to you every morning. It's cheesy and fucking gross; I couldn't be happier.
I love you, baby. A whole lot. Two lots. A whole strip mall in New Jersey number of lots. (Let's never go back there.)
- T
