Creative Writing, My Writing, writing

I Love You

Hi, Hey, Hello!

So, I’ve decided that the best way to kick myself out of my this creative rut that I am in is to actually force myself to write some shit as opposed to just letting everything fester. And, well that’s what I am doing. Today’s prompt for myself is the following (from this blog, which my recent saviour, yet again):  

When was the last time you said, “I love you.”?

In theory the answer to this should be simple. I mean I have parents, I have a brother, a sister. Friends. And yet, if I really think about it, which I’ve been doing ever since I heard it for the first time fall out of his mouth like was as easy an exhale, I don’t remember the last time that I actually said it. I’m fairly sure I prove it to those that it’s relevant to in my every day life. I don’t hurt Dylan despite him possessing some of the most annoying habits I have ever encountered and that seems like a pretty decent demonstration of love.

There are probably other examples of me showing that I love someone. I can’t quite remember them right now, but I’m sure it’s just the little things. Or at least I hope it is because otherwise I am just being incredibly cocky…or rude.

I don’t know I guess in my head they are just not three words that I feel the need to say. Saying them too often makes them sound kind of pointless. Lola throws them around all the time. I don’t think I’ve met a person that she doesn’t love. And then I don’t think she’s ever met a person that I explicitly love. We’re like polar opposites like that. She uses the word like it’s raindrops, I use it like it’s some kind of rare gem that is only found once in a blue moon.

Which is why it took me second to register what was even happening. One because I was in the zone and had finally figured out the idea and so I wasn’t really paying all that much attention and two because for some reason it didn’t register with me that it was actually the first time either of us had ever actually said it out loud. I mean I knew it. Or at least I felt like I knew it. It didn’t occur to me at this point that he didn’t. The way I knew that he loved me was the same way that I know that everyone who does love me does. It was in actions. In the fact that he looked at me this morning while I was stuck in total whirlwind of emotions and planning and total confusion and didn’t wonder what the hell was wrong with me or tell me to go back to bed or try and talk to me for any longer than he needed to, he just checked in on me and my candle and then left again. After letting those words fall out and settle in the air, he just left again.

He seemed satisfied by my pretty pathetic response in return I guess. He didn’t seem offended which is good. If I was a more paranoid person I might be concerned about the fact that I’ve woken up in bed alone, but I’m not. If only because I can hear him in the kitchen right now. I haven’t woken up with him in this bed for weeks, it’s not that weird for us. So the paranoia isn’t there. What is there is a slight worry.

I mean, I didn’t say it back. Not because I don’t feel it or whatever, just because the thought to say it back didn’t cross my mind at the time. It never crosses my mind to say it back, I’ve also gotten weirdly Han Solo about it, that’s the joke in the family. I guess I broke the pattern in this case, but it’s still a running joke. I just don’t say it back. Or say it first. Or say it…I don’t remember the last time I said the words ‘I love you’.

I don’t right now anyway.

I will in about a minute when I finally stumble my way into the kitchen and find out what he’s cooking in there.

And yeah, guess what canon this belongs to

Parentheses count: 1. See you tomorrow!

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