Saudade: A Love Letter

Hey babes,

I’d always been warned that love would be a crazy whirlwind that would completely bowl me over; drive me insane in the best of ways. I thought love was only meant to be loud and brash and colorful. Perhaps that is why I did not recognize you when you calmly walked into my heart on a lazy Sunday afternoon with stories tucked in your pocket and a smirk on your face.

To the horizon-chasers, to the rainy summer nights in the city, to the cigarettes with black coffee at the park, to all the hours in between. To the people who loved me and left, the ones who didn’t, and those who, even after the human I’ve been, still stay.

I am writing this to you.

I would like you to know I am learning. I would like you to know I have grown. I have fallen asleep in more beds than I can count, making a home in every heart I can find. I want to know where you keep your silverware and how your shower works and where I can sit in your house for half an hour without being bothered.

Hand me the words that keep you up at night so I can smash them on the pavement. I want to know you. Want to learn you. I want to know the way your eyes look when you laugh and how your shoulders fold in on themselves to keep you from crying. Want to know the tone of your voice when you mean the "I love you.” Need to know when you don’t.