A letter wrapped in a blanket.
I sit at my kitchen table and go through all the old pictures of you. Just you. There’s something about the night that makes me miss you even more. I miss you during the day, but night hits harder.
I open the windows and let the cool, crisp night air sink into my house. I wrap myself in my beige knitted blanket and curl up on the couch, resting my head on one of the big pillows. It reminds me of your strong chest. But I know it’s not you, and that’s what brings me to tears.
The moon isn’t out tonight, and I can’t find a single star. I stand on my porch remembering the hours we spent that night under a million of them. I’m never going to forget that night.
I used to think people were exaggerating when they wrote about missing someone so much they could feel it in their body. But standing here wrapped in this blanket under a dark sky, I understand it now. You didn’t just walk into my life. You rewrote the script.
In my old script, I was content being independent and alone. Baggy clothes. Not the kind of pretty woman a man goes crazy over. Then you came along and accepted me. You fell in love with my silly routines, my goals, all of it. For years, my thoughts were what kept me company at night. I don’t need them to hold me anymore. I have you.
So I’ll stay wrapped in this blanket a little while longer, knowing the next time I see you, this empty sky won’t matter. The crowd will fade, all I’ll hear is the orchestra swell, and I’ll be right where I belong again.
In the arms of the man who rewrote my whole life.
Forever yours,
Lovie
