Let's be honest, this post will be gone by morning, probably.

Do you have any idea how long it has taken us to get here? Almost two years.


Two years of shoes smelling like fire, looking god-like in beanies, holding hands in the back seat. That's two years of fighting and making up. Two years of almosts (but nots), and maybes (but nots). Two years of Scott Pilgrim and sarcasm and going dancing and no gray area concerning how many buttons ought to be buttoned and concerts and being teased about my age. That's two years of sometimes saying "I love you" but never knowing what that actually means. Two years of awkward high fives, two years of weekends in the basement, two years of being helplessly unpredictable. Two years of Trax tickets, of thrift stores, of being replaced by girls who play video games. That's two years of haircuts and talking to voicemails and Beatles songs and falling in love with other people. Two years of immense angst and anxiety. Two years of never understanding each other, of jokes about never dating each other, of fifth-grade-esque flirting tactics. Two years of magic cookies.


So when he kissed me, I felt a million things: fear, relief, love, lust, euphoria, exhaustion... but it all paled in comparison to the immense and overwhelming feeling of "FINALLY." I stopped worrying about chapstick or what to do with my lips and let myself drown in the finally. After two years of breaking sentences with "I don't know," we were kissing.


And it was tainted with meaning and perfection and what I believe is called "love" - real love, maybe, not platonic, "I love you, friend" love. It was everything we should've said (but didn't) and wanted to do (but didn't) and thought would happen (but didn't).


And, yes. I'm scared of the future. I'm scared of how the right thing is still very rarely said. But I'm still shake-y knee-ed and shallow breathe-y and drowning in the finally, and sometimes, that's just fine, I think. Because that moment, that moment that lasted somewhere between thirty seconds and thirty years, it made two years look like nothing, even though they were everything. Because they gave us one moment of everything-ness and nothing-ness, and in it, two years seemed to erupt into flames, shooting higher and higher until they slipped through the hole in the ozone and fell into place shouting, "FINALLY."


Finally (inhale).
Finally (exhale).
Finally (remember to breathe).
Finally (forget about everything).


I almost want to say that in that moment, we were infinite, but I feel like that's dumb. 


Actually, whatever: In that moment, we were infinite.


Math problems.
All my love,
Addy