Pint-sized love

This post was created because I was recently told about a writing contest by a friend. The requirement was a 1000-1500 word love story. Although I am not capable of that, I did like the concept. And it helps that the birthday of the subject is in four days, which is why she is on my mind more than ever. My would-have-been submission follows:

The first time I laid eyes on her, I thought ‘she’s so small’. She was sitting quietly on a couch.

The first time I drove her home, she sat in that quiet, thoughtful way of hers. I worried. I worried if I was doing the right thing. I worried that it might not turn out okay.

I needn’t have worried. My family fell in love with her almost as soon as they met her. They tripped over themselves, trying to get to know her better. She accepted the attention with the grace that only she had; nobody could ever say that they left with the feeling that they weren’t appreciated. I made many more friends than I should have, thanks to her.

Over the years, I realised that I’d found someone that would never complain about my terrible guitar playing, or the loud volumes. I could return home at all times of the day or night, and get a king’s welcome. She was always up for an adventure – no planning required, just get up and go.

The delicious warmth that emanated from her on cold nights is one of the many things that makes my heart twist in longing to this day. I remember burying my face in her hair, inhaling deeply, hoping against hope that I’d never forget her fragrance. I used to squeeze her until she squirmed her way out of my arms. She never did like getting kissed too much, although she wouldn’t stop me from doing it, either. I loved it when I got kisses, though. They spoke more than words ever could.

Not once did she get angry with me for not paying enough attention to her. Not once did I get told off when had to do things that were obviously difficult for her, both physically and emotionally. In fact, she knew when I was angry, and she knew how to calm me down. If I was sad, she’d cheer me up. Looking into those brown eyes and the love they held for me was always scary. But it also made me want to be a better person.

I wanted to be a good person for her. I wanted to be all that she believed I was. I wasn’t perfect, but she thought I was. And that’s what I wanted to be for her. To see that unwavering belief in my goodness was very intimidating… and it really did make me a better person.

I just wish that I didn’t lose her so soon. I wish that I didn’t get this physical ache in my chest every time I think of her. I wish I could remember all these things and tell you about it without the tears flowing. I wish I wasn’t so stupid.

I wish.

If I’m a good person today, it is because I am reminded of who you thought I was. I still strive to be that person and I fail miserably most days. If you could do it, so can I. If I can do this ‘life’ thing half as well as you managed it, I’ll be okay. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that I magically encounter a friendly face when I miss you the most. Thank you for continuing to watch over me.

I love you – but you knew that long before I realised it. I only know that now. I love you, Angel.