You Too


I’m kind of lucky in the sense that somehow I still get to say that I love you. It’s been a long time, nearly 10 years now, but I get to say it. Up until recently I would have said that I had been in love before, but I’ve realised that saying that would be a lie. I’ve felt passionately and strongly about someone before you, but I couldn’t call that love anymore. But when you’re 17 and everything feels so new to you that you start feeling feelings that you’ve never really experienced outside of your family before then you think that it is worth being labelled love.

But it was nothing compared to what this is. And what this continues to be. It’s mildly horrifying to be honest. I feel like at this point, 10 years down the line, you know that about me. You know that I almost refuse to talk about it all that much because it kind of terrifies me to vocalise all the things that I think and feel. For someone who works with words for a living and prides herself on always being pretty good at expressing herself it’s kind of ironic that I can’t do that.

Or rather, more accurately, I can do that but I have to write it down. Like this. It seems to be easier for me to know that you’re reading it rather than looking at my face as I say something even remotely related to expressing feelings. There is probably something in that, you know psychologically speaking or whatever. But hey, I’ve never really given that all that much thought.

There’s probably also something to be said for the fact that we seem to be incapable of saying the phrase ‘I love you too’. It probably means lack of intimacy. Or lack of emotion. Or something real deep rooted about our childhoods and how our parents probably didn’t love us enough. I don’t know, there is something there somehow though. That much I feel like we can both bank on.

I also know that I don’t need you to echo the words back to me after I’ve said them to you. Heck at this point, I don’t even know if I really need to hear them at all. I mean it’s nice and all, but I can feel it more than ever the longer this relationship goes on. That’s what has made me realise that whatever I felt before you wasn’t love. It probably wasn’t even lust. It was more a sense of wanting to feel those things, maybe just to prove that I am capable of feeling such things. I don’t even need to worry about that with you. Not anymore. Not that I ever did or anything. I mean I had doubts for sure, but that seems like a normal thing to happen to a person when they are falling in love. I guess our case was a bit unique, but the basic rules still apply I guess. I don’t even really know.

I don’t plan on finding that out anytime soon either. I’m almost 100% certain that you don’t either.


That’s how would I describe the last 10 years. You make me feel safe. I’ve never really known what that has felt like before, which sounds like I’m being harsh to my family but there you have it. I never feel like I am going to fall. I felt like that for years, to the point where I had almost accepted that that was going to be the way that my life was going to go, but then you happened and made me realise that I didn’t have to feel that way anymore. You helped make me stronger and I can never thank you enough for that.

I terrifyingly love you more than I know what to do with. And I know you hate it every time I say but it still throws me through a loop every time I realise that you feel the same way because sometimes I just don’t get it. Ever since you casually slipped those three words into the middle of the night quietness I’ve been a bit thrown.

Mainly because I finally realised in that moment that home has never been a place but a feeling. A feeling that up until that point I thought I already had. But you proved me wrong.  You’re always proving me wrong. You took the sense of home that I had and made it homier. And you just keep on doing that.

Thank you seems too casual a phrase for what I want to say to you right now to end this letter of sorts and yet oddly I can’t find the right words to get it across. Who would have guessed that I wouldn’t be able to find the right words to convey love?

But I do. Love you that is. And I know that once you get to the end of this letter, that I definitely will not be witnessing you read, that you will squeeze yourself in that space between the back of my desk chair and my actual back with all your limbs that shouldn’t fit but somehow do and you’re going to drop a kiss somewhere on my hairline and just mumble ‘you too’, before hooking your chin over my shoulder and somehow you’re gonna fall asleep like for a bit before the weight of your head finally guilts me into stopping work for the night.

And I’m gonna love every second of it.

Main sign off

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Sophie, twenty-something, avid reader, writer, really good at watching whole seasons of TV shows in one weekend and using 10 words where 5 will do, overzealous user of the ellipsis and parentheses, starts too many sentences with ‘and’ and ‘so’, living in a continual state of Wanderlust.

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