The things I can’t keep straight

Baby, I’m sorry I’m such a stubborn idiot sometimes—someone who hasn’t quite figured out how to meet you where you are, and who keeps putting what we have at risk because of it. When I feel wronged I come back three times as hard, no thought for the damage. I know that some jealousy and some fighting is part of loving someone for real. But the long-term math on that isn’t good.

The adventures in this city—I wouldn’t trade them with anyone else. Your red hair, your dark eyes, that dry-sharp way you find things funny. I’m proud you’re with me. I love you.