Everything was perfect. I had the perfect facade in place. I was happy, I had everything I could ever need - or want, for that matter - and there wasn't a single thing wrong with me that anyone could see.

She wasn't supposed to see it in my eyes. I liked you. I saw you standing there with the microphone, feeling so comfortable surrounded by your friends you said something you definitely shouldn't have said. I didn't just see you, I noticed you. It scared me, because I'd never noticed someone before. I'd seen them, they'd seen me. This was different. I tried to explain it away, rationalize it to myself, and there were truly no words to describe it. But that didn't matter, because no one was going to see in my eyes that I liked you.

But see, she cheated. She caught on me off guard. She wasn't supposed to be there, but she was, and she saw me watching you. And damnit, there is just something about you that makes me let my guard down and take off my mask of perfection. She saw. She saw and she knew, and hell be damned if she didn't use it against me. She knew I liked you, and in less then a week, we were together.

I think I loved you from the start. Honestly, when I looked at you, something was different from looking at anyone else. I just had this feeling that you were dangerous to me. And you are. Oh, you are dangerous, but I don't care. You see my imperfections, and I don't even care. That's truly shocking, and more than a little dangerous for a perfectionist like me. But you see my imperfections, and you love me in spite of them. Or maybe because of them, I'm not quite sure. All I know is that you love me.

And I love you. I love everything about you, every last inch of you. Me, the person who hates anything that isn't perfect, is in love. With someone who isn't perfect. Which is why you're perfect. I know that probably doesn't make sense. That's why I'm writing this down. To explain that your imperfections are what make you so perfect.

I love perfection. I live on perfection. I am not perfect, but as long as it appears to everyone that I am, I'm ok. You, however, are not perfect. Your temper, for starters. Forget "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned", I personally think hell hath no fury like your temper. But I love your temper, because it shows that you're passionate about things. But I already knew that. Anyone can see it, just by looking at you, and seeing how you throw youself into your daily activities.

I'm rambling. I always do that when I'm around you. I go on and on and on, and you don't care. You laugh. You aren't a big talker, so I don't know how you put up with my constant chattering, but you do it. I don't know how you do anything you do, and I would rather not know. Sometimes...Sometimes I worry. And oh, how that drives you insane. I know you hate it when I worry. But do you blame me? If I did even half of the things you do, you'd be out of your mind. I go crazy worrying for you, but you don't even know when I'm worring half the time. I can't even sleep at night if I don't know you're safe, tucked in under the thin silk sheet, sleeping with a face as peaceful as an angels. I try to keep it from you, because it makes you feel bad.

Making you feel bad would make me feel like the worst person on Earth. I love you, and I couldn't beat to look at myself in the mirror if I ever hurt you. I couldn't sleep, knowing I'd done that to you.

This sounds psychotic, but really it's not. I'm quite sane, thank you. I just worry, and I'm just now realizing that I don't just love you.

I'm in love with you.

I've never been in love before. Nothing like you has ever happened to me before. And I don't want to lose you. I'm happy just knowing you're safe and happy. Even if you're not with me, as long as you're happy, I'll be ok. I think if you were ever unhappy with your life, then I wouldn't know what to do. I look at you, and I just want to fix whatever thing could possibly make you hurt, at any point in your life. I don't want you to ever hurt.

Even when you're eighty and more wrinkled then a prune.

I'm always going to love you. There aren't any guarantees, and I don't know if you'll always love me back. I know there will always be a place in your heart for me, you told me so yourself. But when we're old and can barely walk anymore, will we still be together?

I remember when I first realized I was in love with you. I thought you were going to do something crazy, something that even I couldn't rationalize away. I was terrified, and you held me. I felt like I was in the arms of an angel. And I realized, I am in love with you. I didn't say that, only that I had been so scared for him.

Sometimes I think you're not real - that you're an angel. Because when you hold me, everything is right in the world. That only happens in the arms of an angel.



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