I tell him that he stole my heart. That's not the truth, though. I saw him coming a mile away. From the moment that I laid eyes on him, I knew we would have something special one day. I knew that my heart would be held in his palms, either to be shattered or filled with his own love. That is a risk that I have always been willing to take...the one where you take the chance at true love...where you risk your whole world being torn from you. Trust me, that one hurts like a bitch. And with him, there is this fear that he will forget about me. He will forget the way that we would bust up laughing at the most random, ridiculous things...the way I'd stand waiting for him to disappear around the corner before going back inside after a hard goodbye...the way he could tackle me to the ground in a bear hug because of a rush of emotion...the way it feels to fall asleep in each others arms and wake up to my lips pressing against his...the way my heartbeat felt against his chest that first night...the way we could talk about anything...the way my skin felt against his skin, or lips against his lips...the way we shared everything...the showers together, the breakfast's made with him engulfing me in hugs from behind, the ice cream runs, Portland, fries, joys, hardships, love. When we are apart for more than a couple of days and we finally hold each other, he claims to have forgotten how I felt, how it felt to be close to me. It scares me to death. I can't stand to have my heart shattered again. This first time was the most terrible grief I've ever experienced and he was an asshole. I don't want to even try to imagine how much it would hurt this time; pain indescribable. I know that he loves me. I can feel it in the way he pulls me close and finally breathes. He's a fresh gulp of air after it took longer than expected to break the surface of the ocean. That breath that fills you with relief and life; the one that saves you from drowning. When he looks at me from across the room, I know. I know that he loves me. It's been over a year since I laid eyes on him in that church and I was right. What we have is the most raw, real relationship that I have ever had outside of my family. It is special and close. It's more than just a simple "I love you." It's a "I can't even describe how much my heart is longing to be with you in the past, present, and future." It's an "I don't ever want to be with anyone else"; a "love doesn't even come close to the feelings that I have for you." He couldn't have stolen my heart...because I gave it to him that first night.
I can still picture us laying there watching Django in my little one bedroom apartment, me trying to calm my heart as he put his arm around me. It didn't matter how hard I tried to calm it, though, because he still told me that he could feel my heartbeat thumping quickly against his ribs. Nervous giggles, playful glances...I lost it. My heart was already gone. He unknowingly held it in his hands as we had our first kiss.
In a way, he did steal my heart that night, though. I knew that he would get it one day, but that night he sneaked in and took it before I could even have another thought about it. I was trying to guard my heart, to avoid it breaking again...but his soft smile, glowing eyes, and warm soul took it before I ever had the chance to protect it. A thief takes a big risk when he steals; he risks losing his hand. When he stole my heart, he risked losing his own in the process.
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