a letter to you


dear the love of my life,


yesterday as we laid entangled in one another, you told me why you fell in love with the piano. you described how it illustrated every feeling that rushed through your heart and how it quickly became your biggest passion.


i fell in love with you when you were 5,379 miles away from me. i felt your melodies rushing over me and filling every empty crater in my being. i can’t play the piano (unless you want to hear a terrible rendition of out-of-tune “jingle bells”), but i can write to the topic of “home” about you.


the first moment i ever saw you, i knew you would mean something to me. and the first time we kissed atop the balcony of the local art museum, i was far past “head over heels”; i knew that i loved you more than any art we had seen that day. everything with you has always been ethereal, saturated so that it soaks within my being, leaving in its trace the most lovely hues. i feel as if i’m living in every ‘60’s love song, and i keep waiting for frank sinatra to write about you. every moment with you is one in which something in me changes, in which i fall more in love with the fresh-cut flowers on your counter, with the eyelash on your cheek, with you.


home to me was always found in temporary places: in candles before they burned out or in fresh pasta for dinner. it was an empty promise, or something i wanted to feel so badly that if i squeezed my eyes shut for long enough i could catch a glimpse, connect the stars in constellations, feel a sense of permanence. i can promise you that i’ve read enough romance novels to know that so many find their homes in the arms of another, but only if i knew i’d find mine in you. i didn’t realize i could be so lucky, so privileged, so deserving as to get to fall asleep next you.


yesterday as we laid entangled in one another, i should have told you that the picture of you next to me, of your beautiful eyes looking at mine, will never go forgotten. that every moment with you is a moment at home, the melody of a ‘60’s love song, a dream.


i should have told you that the piano may be the root of your passion, but that you are the root of mine. that we grow and we grow and we grow. i should have told you that my heart replicates the melodies you play, that everything i have become is a reflection of what i see in you. i should have told you about the sunset i saw on friday evening while leaving your arms, how it perfectly illustrated the way you make me feel. i should have told you that our future home can be any color you like so long as i get to share it with you. i should have told you that i fall more in love with you every moment and that you always leave me breathless.


but as we laid entangled in one another, i was silent. my eyes were fluttering closed and you insisted i take a nap because i didn’t feel well. i should have told you before i inevitably fell asleep so comfortable in your embrace. i should have told you that it’s you, you’re my home.


i hope you know that.


love,

yours


By Ryan Vortisch

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