Post by maggie on Jan 12, 2007 12:47:23 GMT 10
Luka
We don’t move from the couch until it begins to get dark. We almost never just relax like this, and I revel in the chance to just enjoy her. I can’t imagine a more perfect day than this to ask her to marry me. The stars seem to be aligned in my favor, but then again, every day with her seems perfect. Even if we fight, and it happens, nothing can change how good life is so long as I can call her my own. The world can fall apart around us, and so long as I can kiss her goodnight and kiss her good morning, I don’t need anything else. I loved like this once before, and to have it again is more than I can ask. I let myself forget who I was, and she brought me back. I don’t deserve her, but I have her. The most beautiful, incredible, flawless woman I could dream of, and she lets me love her. She rarely says it back to me, but today she did, and it makes an otherwise perfect day even moreso. This much happiness makes me almost feel guilty for those who aren’t so lucky, but I don’t care. I have Abby. I have the world.
We finally vacate the poor sofa, which after much abuse from us, is much in need of replacing. I smile at the permanent dip in the cushions that has formed a mold of our bodies. We get a lot of use out of it. It occurs to me that I should take her out for dinner. It seems only right. Her favorite place isn’t far, a cozy little Italian place a few blocks away. As she begins to dress, I stop her.
“Put on something nice,” I instruct her, kissing her soft hand.
She cocks her head to the side. “Nice?”
“We should go out to dinner.” I smile a little. “I want to take you out.”
“How nice?”
I grin. “Surprise me.”
She laughs softly and nods before disappearing into my bedroom, where she’s accumulated a wardrobe. Her apartment is a formality now. My bathroom counter is covered in her makeup, body lotion, feminine products, a scented candle. Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, she took over my apartment. I’m happy with that. I head towards the kitchen to get a glass of water and pull open the refrigerator. She’s invaded that, too. Ketchup. Apple juice. White bread. Poptarts in my cupboards, frozen waffles in the freezer. I don’t mind it. I like the constant presence around my apartment. I pull out the water pitcher and have to smile. There’s barely a drop left, but she hasn’t refilled it. I seem like a male Martha Stewart compared to this domestic nightmare. It’s surprising how much of a disaster she is when it comes to housekeeping. I shake my head and fill a glass from the tap. I don’t care. She’s perfect just as she is.
We don’t move from the couch until it begins to get dark. We almost never just relax like this, and I revel in the chance to just enjoy her. I can’t imagine a more perfect day than this to ask her to marry me. The stars seem to be aligned in my favor, but then again, every day with her seems perfect. Even if we fight, and it happens, nothing can change how good life is so long as I can call her my own. The world can fall apart around us, and so long as I can kiss her goodnight and kiss her good morning, I don’t need anything else. I loved like this once before, and to have it again is more than I can ask. I let myself forget who I was, and she brought me back. I don’t deserve her, but I have her. The most beautiful, incredible, flawless woman I could dream of, and she lets me love her. She rarely says it back to me, but today she did, and it makes an otherwise perfect day even moreso. This much happiness makes me almost feel guilty for those who aren’t so lucky, but I don’t care. I have Abby. I have the world.
We finally vacate the poor sofa, which after much abuse from us, is much in need of replacing. I smile at the permanent dip in the cushions that has formed a mold of our bodies. We get a lot of use out of it. It occurs to me that I should take her out for dinner. It seems only right. Her favorite place isn’t far, a cozy little Italian place a few blocks away. As she begins to dress, I stop her.
“Put on something nice,” I instruct her, kissing her soft hand.
She cocks her head to the side. “Nice?”
“We should go out to dinner.” I smile a little. “I want to take you out.”
“How nice?”
I grin. “Surprise me.”
She laughs softly and nods before disappearing into my bedroom, where she’s accumulated a wardrobe. Her apartment is a formality now. My bathroom counter is covered in her makeup, body lotion, feminine products, a scented candle. Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, she took over my apartment. I’m happy with that. I head towards the kitchen to get a glass of water and pull open the refrigerator. She’s invaded that, too. Ketchup. Apple juice. White bread. Poptarts in my cupboards, frozen waffles in the freezer. I don’t mind it. I like the constant presence around my apartment. I pull out the water pitcher and have to smile. There’s barely a drop left, but she hasn’t refilled it. I seem like a male Martha Stewart compared to this domestic nightmare. It’s surprising how much of a disaster she is when it comes to housekeeping. I shake my head and fill a glass from the tap. I don’t care. She’s perfect just as she is.