He would wake me up with brewed coffee and we are off to our morning routine of multiple orgasms and cigarette sticks. Last night, I beat him at scrabble. As competitive as he is, there are some things he cannot win and he gladly accepts it. His weekly schedule consists of being a corporate slave and trying to cast evil spirits out by writing. A fan of cramming with a timetable that can rival mine, he miraculously finds ways to be with me.

We’re the type that can get lost in a bookstore. I would be in the sci-fi section but we would meet halfway in poetry. He is passionate about literature and that is one of the things I adore about him. He understands my need to read Lang Leav and Haruki Murakami in the middle of the night. There are days when I’m sad for no reason and he knows what to do. We both can’t cook so he would bring home fried chicken and blueberry cheesecake. After binge-watching on Netflix as we argue about the merits of the show, I would have forgotten the crappy day I’ve just had.

Every day is an adventure with him. Imagine Rick and Morty except I’m not his sidekick. On weekends, he would take me to different museums. He knows I like roaming the city to search for intellectual treasure. On date nights, he brings me to bars with bands that play mellow alternative music. I would force him to drink more than he should but even that he complies with as he knows I would safely tuck him in.

I am not your definition of pretty but he makes it a point to flatter me daily. I could be wearing a garbage bag and he would still find me hot. He undresses me with his eyes and I could never resist him. Our appetite for each other doesn’t wane through time. Previously I was scared of growing old, but being with him changed that. We could be at our golden years and it would never be boring.

This is my first attempt at writing “happy.” I know you are so used to my tragic stories that this one may seem out of place in the context of my bleak, emotional universe. This is a love story in paragraph form and after reading this, you would know that I am madly in love with him. He found me when I thought that no one would. Regardless of how this ends, the fragile remnants of my once broken heart is his to keep.

P.S.
Read this while listening to “Learning to breathe” by Switchfoot