The first time I said the words
"I love you",
was not the first time I told you I loved you.
The very first time
was when you had come home from work.
I didn't hear from you
for a couple of hours.
Not entirely unusual, but you know me,
I'm a worrier.
You finally texted me and after a brief exchange of words,
you asked me to call you.
Of course I did without hesitation; calling you had become
my favorite part of every day.
You told me you had been crying.
Really crying.
I remember the feeling in my stomach,
the immediate urge to run to where
you were,
to wage a war against whatever it was
that had caused you that much pain.
To hold you.
Verbally, I've never been good with words.
I wanted to say so much.
I could have said it then.
After a drawn out pause, I told you
"I want to take care of you".
Maybe you knew,
maybe you didn't.
I think my heart knew before I did
that I loved you.
But I meant it then, more than anything.
Still do.
