Dear You,

You were unexpected.
And usually,
I hate unexpected things.

And I don't know what it means,

But honestly-
It doesn't matter,

I love talking to you so much
That being close to you that way

For a few short moments
Has changed so many things about me.

Your warmth in words
And small talk

Eliminates my fear.
I can't explain it

And I don't understand it.

There is a security in
Your words that spread themselves
Across the page

That I find a haven in.

I like writing you-
Because

It's easy.

There is no pressure,
No anxiety
In the letters we send.

It's something mine,
Like a secret no one knows;

And I love it.

I love talking to you.

After so many moments
Of feeling incomplete

Like there was no one,
You gave me your ears

And read what I wrote

Even the most insignificant things,

But in all of this nothing-
There has been so much something

Something not heavy,
Something light-hearted

Like air I can breathe.

And it feels good to breathe again.

You don't expect me,
To be something I'm not

Or pretend.

And you make me laugh.

It's
Perfect

In it's "incomplete-ness",
And complete in
It's simplicity.

I love being this with you.
I love talking to you.

And I can't wait for you to get home;
Bringing adventures back to tell me about.

And I'll miss you-
And I'm so comfortable saying that.

I'm comfortable.

And that never happens...
But it's happening,

With you.