I will write you love notes. They will be syntactically sound in design, maybe sarcastic, and not always as clever as they were meant to be but saturated with how lovely I think you are.
I will cook you dinner. I will probably have a phase where I think crock pots are the only way to go, and another one where I make only things based on coconut milk. I may become obsessed with cheese fondue for a while. When it’s so bad we throw it away and eat cereal, it’d still be nice if you didn’t tease me too hard.
I will cry. Sometimes, it will be because of something you’ve done, or something I have done. Sometimes, it may seem like it is for no reason at all. Perhaps I am tired. Perhaps I’m afraid of the dark. I will melt into a puddle all over the shoulder of your favorite shirt and hope you don’t mind.
I will stay up until 4 AM working on a song, a paper, a letter, or a poem. If we live in a tiny apartment, it may be with a headlamp under a blanket so I don’t keep you awake, or on the porch, or in my car. I will occasionally seem completely deranged, obnoxiously whimsical, or eerily quiet, while in a frenzy of creative enthusiasm or painful inspiration. I will ask you what you think of the same line with a one-phoneme difference ten different times.
I will sing absent-mindedly in the shower, in the car, while doing dishes, when I think you’ve left and you haven’t, pretty much all the time. Sometimes I’ll secretly hope you can hear me.
I will leave you long, rambling, awkward voice mails when I miss you.
I will tell you about my dreams in disjointed, sleepy, gummy-bear-storm-trooper detail. They will nearly never quite make sense. I will wonder what you think they mean.
I will get the flu and commandeer the television to binge-watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer roughly once a year. I will berate you for criticizing any aspect of Joss Whedon’s storytelling and say really dirty things about David Boreanaz. I will not be trying to make you jealous, it’s just standard viewing protocol. I won’t blame you if you go out for the evening or hide in another room (but I’ll also secretly swoon if you condescend to snuggle up and watch even ten minutes with me).
I will want children someday, but not yet. For now, I’ll just make you a little uneasy with exactly how smitten I instantly become with every single infant that is placed in my arms.
I will see the best and worst in you. I will love and respect who you really are as well as who you want to be. I will hate you for a split second every once in a while and then I’ll take a deep breath and remember that it isn’t really you I’m angry at. I will over-communicate. I will take you for granted sometimes, but I will apologize and try to make it up to you when I realize it. I will forgive you. I will tell you exactly what I (think I) want and need, and hope that you will do the same.
I will want you so much it hurts sometimes. I will make eyes at you across the table at tedious social functions and think about you naked while I’m trying to work.
Some days, I will miss you as soon as you walk out the door.
I will believe in you and be amazed by the things you accomplish, create, and imagine. I will enjoy re-discovering who you are over and over again every single day. I will be here, whenever you’re ready.