Beginnings Of Spring

Beginnings of Spring

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[1:04 am]

mark can’t stop telling you he loves you.

the first time he says it, it surprises you both. you’re standing on your tiptoes at midnight, stretching your arms to reach the chamomile tea on the top shelf. and mark watches in amusement as you struggle, fingertips brushing the bottom corner of the box to push it towards the edge. and when teabags rain down onto the countertop, the words tumble from his mouth as easily as he might have laughed.

“i love you.”

then it begins slipping out more often—the time when you surprise him with chinese takeout for dinner; when you decide to cram as many goldfish crackers as you can in your mouth at once; when the two of you choose to dye your hair blue and silver in the bathroom. even when you have your first fight, when a brief silence passes—through his tears, he says, “i love you.”

he will shout it from the pier into the waiting ocean waves, he will whisper it in the lull of an argument, he will murmur it against your lips while tracing patterns on the back of your hand. and, as many times as he says it, the phrase never loses its meaning.

because it’s true.

L O N G F L I G H T // t a e y o n g

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