I tenderly cup your face in my hands and somehow it feels small. Not small as in size, or small as in unimportant, but rather, small as in a gift to treasure. Small and precious and eager for my touch.
I learn more about you each time that you're here. Your silly quirks make me chuckle and shake my head. The way you float through here, and through life in general, leaving little traces of you behind everywhere you go. You remind me of the witch in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons -- how a gust of bobby pins would fly out behind her every time she left the room. Maybe you do this to be sure people know that you were there. To be noticed and remembered.
Sleeping next to you has been really, really nice when I thought that I could never share a bed with anyone again. I enjoy going to bed with you, messy blankets aside. And I love waking up with you, messy blankets aside.
This present us allows me to think about future us. How we would occupy each other's spaces full time. How I'm sure your silly quirks would drive me crazy from time to time, but that's ok. How my need for tidy blankets would no longer be a novelty, but a chore and annoyance. But we fit. And we don't need each other, we just like each other, and that is something truly special. I am so incredibly grateful that I found you.