A love letter to my best friend

Is this love? I don't know. I want to hold you tight and keep you warm when you cry, I want to dry your tears and hold your hands in mine. I want to brush the edges of your knuckles with gentle touches, and I want to look into your eyes as I affirm that I love you.

I think that, yes, this is love. It is deep, and pure. A sweet, childish love. I want to be more than friends, and I want to be your lover in the sense that I love you, not in the sense that I want to kiss you or touch you.

My love for you wants to be expressed in the passion of loving, thoughtful, choked up words, forehead kisses, gentle touch. I want to lie on the couch with you and play with your hair and hold you close. I want to breathe your air, and mine too, and I never want this tension to break.

I want to write you love letters, make you playlists, show you the color that is yours in my mind. You're in my brain and in my heart and in every action of unloading the dishwasher so you will have a clean coffee cup in the morning.

I want to be domestic with you, but I do not want to share your bed. Unless we share a bed in the way that young girls do at sleepovers! I would gladly fall asleep next to you with giggles still aching on my ribs, begging on my breath. I would hold you to hold you, not to have you.

I want to bake you a cake for no particular occasion because you said that it sounded good.

Of course I'll make your coffee for you.

I would make coffee for you every single day for all of eternity.

Of course I'll get up to turn off the light- it's hurting your head.

There are thousands of ways to tell you I love you.

“I like the cut of your jib”