i love post-it notes from God

i thank God for the daily reminders. "kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises." and "thank you," no matter how i listen to it just doesn't sound the same as "i love you." doesn't mean the same, too. but innocent kisses are sweet and heartfelt presents are always nice and honest "thank yous" never fail warm my heart.

it's called faith

i believe in heaven, in miracles, in angels, in love, and in happiness. i believe there is a truth, that peace is possible, and perfection. yes, even perfection. i believe in dreams and in prayers. that there is beauty in sunshine and in starlight. i believe in the blue of the sky and in the glimmer of a peacock's tail. i believe in friendship, in dragonflies, in rainbows as much as in rain. i believe in laughter, and in silence, and in the wisdom of the wait.

the point is....

i pulled my hand away from his and we fell silent.

it felt, to me, like some sort of defining moment.

we didn't speak until the rickety pickup came into view again up ahead.

we laughed at it, and at each other. sort of with each other.

no, he isn't my boyfriend.

which is exactly the point.

earlier he had asked if he could come to my best friend's wedding with me.

i asked him why when only a few days ago he didn't want me to go.

i asked him why even though i knew exactly why.

i asked him why even though i knew he would never tell me.

it was, of course, the white dress.

if i left it up to him, i'd be wearing white all day everyday.

Or that dark shade of pink.

i would act my age and wear my helmet.

i wouldn't think too much, or reason too much, or argue too much.

the white and pink i can live with. the helmet too.

more often than not, he believes i'm his responsibility.

where i go, who i'm with, when i get home.

sometimes, we both think he's my responsibility.

he wrote my name as emergency contact on his driver's license.

i had him erase it. he cares for the way i wear my hair.

he used to ask me to keep his wallet and phone for him.

he's very forgetful.

now he just asks me to keep his phone and driver's license.

his wallet's almost always out of sight. which is just as good.

it's not my picture he keeps there. not that i'm jealous, mind you.

it's not all laughter, you see. those rides.

sometimes it's silence. and sometimes it bothers him. never me.

it's the same route we take almost every day.

but this talk of weddings.

sometimes we just can't laugh with each other.

from under the pillow he said not to bother.

i had promised to invite him to my wedding.

my best friend had not invited him, i said.

"there's a fine fine line between reality and pretend"

he's used to me singing on the ride home. then good night and et cetera.

earlier he had pulled me into a hug.

he's used to picking up my hand, sliding his fingers through mine.

sometimes, he draws it to his mouth. sometimes it's my forehead.

his lips barely graze my hair. and then a look in his eyes.

he is not that forgetful.

he isn't my boyfriend.

which is exactly the point.