You and I, we play a dance. For the past seventy-six days we've come to know the steps and learned to move to a beat that only the two of us seems to understand.
It doesn't matter who texts "Good morning" first or who starts what conversation or who chooses the topic. It doesn't matter if we just sit in silence comfortable in each other's thoughts, "Talking" through telepathy. It doesn't matter that we can talk about the deepest issues of our hearts of our pasts, one moment then we start talking about the most random, borderline nonsensical, often impossible and fictional thought experiment kinds of stuff.
But it does matter that we say "Good night" and that often, we choose to sleep at the same time. It does matter that we stay up late as long as the other person still has some rant he or she has to say. It matters that we listen and speak with honesty. It matters that you hold open doors for me. It matters that we show up early-- earlier than the time we agreed on. That is something natural to me-- I hate being late. But it matters that you have never been late yet to all our "dates"-- it matters because you told me you were always late. It matters. It matters to me because, DT, I love you. I've chosen to love you. But for now it matters that I keep silent because you are not ready. It matters. You matter to me.