Skeptic

When I used to think of love, I thought it was something that only Taylor Swift would ever know. She wrote about it so well, she knew of its aches, pains, trials, and triumphs. I didn't know anything except, I knew my mom and dad divorced, my brother and sister-in-law, close family friends, and my sister and brother-in-law. I knew that love, for those who had found it, was temporary. It was merely a fleeting moment in life filled with infatuation, sex, and possibly a short marriage and some kids. After that, the spark would die and there would be hurt. Someone would fuck it up and forget what it was in the first place that drew them to the other person...what love actually was.Needless to say, I didn't believe in it and had very little faith in it either. Love was like an old romantic poem that someone had left in their coat pocket. It was truly beautiful, but probably had only been read once or twice. It had been forgotten. It didn't mean anything to anyone anymore. That's what I thought of love. Yet, I still wanted it. I still wanted to feel it, say it, have it, etc...
   He told me that it hit him, that he was in love with me, when I fell asleep on his lap at a get together we had attended. He said something, and he didn't know what, something hit him as he watched me sleep. Everyone else on the couch laughed, ate, and watched the fight on TV, but he said he was watching me, falling in love with me. Now he tells me everyday. Sometimes, he'll say it out of nowhere and sometimes I'll feel it before he can even form the words. He makes me put faith in it.
   I told him I loved him as I sobered up in his bed next to him. I told him truthfully and pushed my words through the alcohol that lingered in my system. He asked the next morning if I had remembered saying it and if I really meant it. I did, but he didn't yet. He didn't until that night when it hit him. I do believe in it now. Ever since he professed it to me, I've been trying to live in every moment with him and be thankful for it, in fear that someday it could fade away and we'll forget. When I lay down with him, I savor the textures, feelings, sounds, movements, words, etc... and try to wonder how quiet my world would be without him. And although I do believe in love now, I'm still a skeptic. I still wait for it to break at the britches, bend, and splinter beneath me. I'm still waiting to fall or for him to wake up and realize that I'm not the sleeping girl I once was, and this makes me fall in love with him more every day.