mnyamata,
it's been 9 months. I'm 16 and you're 17. We've known one another since we were little. Little little. In Sunday school, when you were the angry little boy who didn't feel like he belonged and I can't remember what kind of little girl I was. You say we were friends, I say we weren't. I don't know if either of us really remember. When I was 11, you moved away. I don't remember minding much, apart from missing your sister, who was my friend. You got tall and tan and sweet. I got skinny and tall and smart. Now we're both a little chubby but I don't think either of us really care. Four years you were gone. The day you walked through the doors of my church, I was the first person to hug you. You got home June 16th. I knew I liked you on June 17th. I knew I loved you on the Fourth of July. We started dating on the 28th of July. I was your first kiss on the 18th of August. It's been 9 months. I don't care that I'm 16 and you're 17. I don't care that you're sick all the time. I don't care about anything except the moment 4 and a half years from now when I can be yours officially. I will pinky promise you all my years at the altar.

ndimakukonda

mnyamata
I saw Big Hero 6 with you tonight.
I love going to children's movies. They're always funny and I always love hearing the little laughing voices.
I love hearing you laugh too.
And that short movie before, the one about the dog, when the couple gets married at the end, you know I thought about you.

I had that feeling in my stomach like I'm going to explode or melt like magma, the feeling I always get when I really understand what it would mean to marry you. It's a terrifying high like nothing I've ever experienced. It's an intense kind of beauty that only God could design.

I guess that's what love feels like. At it's most potent. And maybe you believe that things like romantic movies and weddings give me a high that I ride for days in a sort of idealistic stupor, but the truth is, moments like those and like this, just reveal what I always feel about you. They remind me of what love really is.

It feels like you'll explode or melt into magma and all you can do is stare in fear and wonder at the face of your forever and try to keep yourself from kissing him because you're in a movie theater full of children, so you just lay your head on his shoulder and dam up the tears behind your eyes because you cry too much anyway, especially when you're happy, and you have a lot of happy crying to save up for in the future.


The little girl behind us made me think of Keasbey. Her unintentionally loud voice, with the little slur that all toddlers have.
She has so many questions. I can't wait to answer them.
I can't wait to hear you answer them. You'll tell her about wind harvesters and sky farms and the patriarchy and you'll always tell her how beautiful she is and that she's never allowed to fall in love because you don't want your little girl to melt like magma.

And she'll have your warm cheeks and our curly hair. And she will be so beautiful. And she will laugh so much. And she will smile. And you and I will explode.
Or maybe melt like magma.

ndimakukonda
(the both of you)

Mnyamata
I can't honestly tell you this has been the happiest year of my life, because I've no idea. I can't remember a lot of my life, so there's no way to be sure. But what I can tell you, is I could relive this year over and over again forever, because it has been so astoundingly happy. Every second of it, from today, a year ago when we told each other how we felt, to our first date at the Streetlight Manifesto concert at the Neptune, to our first kiss in Jennings Park, and the poem you wrote me, to all those drives home from your house, where we could do nothing but hold each other's faces and stare at each other in the dark because we were so in love, we didn't know what else to do. I'd relive it all, forever. I love you, Ryan. Happy Anniversary.
ndimakukonda

Mnyamata
I am so proud of us. Of you.
We could've given in so many times today, we were so tempted. We wanted each other so badly.
But we held out.
From 12 pm to 12 am, we were strong. And we laughed and we talked and played arcade games and ate ice cream like little kids. And even though we gave in just now, even though we did what we'd promised not to do, I am so proud. We held out so long and that means we can do it again.
We will do it again.

And after, when you were driving me home, you,  in what I interpreted as an apology, talked for 10 minutes listing every reason why you love me. I cried and you opened the car door for me and held my things and called me your teary princess.

And my mom is frustrated that I'm home late and I'm afraid that the Pale Man from Pan's Labyrinth is coming to eat me, but at the same time, I'm at peace. A melancholy peace where I think about bad things just so I can make them good. I hope you have peace tonight my love. I hope you can remember every single kiss. And I hope you know that I am so proud of us.

Ndimakukonda

mnyamata

I promise that everything is okay.
I promise that everything is going stay okay.
I promise that I love you.
I promise that I will continue to love you.
I promise that you're not a bad boyfriend.
I promise that you never have been and I doubt you ever could be.
I promise that you're not fat.
I promise that I will love you even if you ever get fat.
I promise that the world isn't falling apart.
I promise that it won't, as long we keep praying.
I promise that you're worth all our messes.
I promise that you'll always be worth all our messes.

I love you.
Happy Birthday to me.

ndimakukonda

mnyamata,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I make everything such a big deal. I'm sorry that I'm crazy and dramatic. I'm sorry that I bother you about things. I'm sorry I tease you. I'm sorry you don't like the boundaries I asked for. I'm sorry I'm such a ***** to you about it. I'm sorry I have a curfew. I'm sorry that I want it there. I'm sorry for so much, for so many things I really shouldn't be, for so many things I can't control. I'm sorry that I'm sorry. I just feel like I have so much to be sorry for. I love you. I'm sorry for that too.

ndimakukonda

Mnyamata
I'm not promising you I will marry you. I can't promise you that. We could break up, meet other people, things between us could go wrong, one of us could die or move away. **** happens. So when I say I'm going to marry you, I'm not promising. I'm telling you that I believe I will. That I want to SO badly my heart breaks every night I fall asleep without you. That I will do everything I can to make this last at least 3 more years until we can legally belong to each other. When I say I'm going to marry you, that isn't a promise. Those wedding vows I wrote a few months ago aren't a promise either, they are a rough draft. In the way that this relationship is a rough draft for a marriage. We can't promise to marry each other, we can just wait and wait and wait and wait. And then we can marry each other.
And maybe 3 years is too soon and one or both of us won't be ready yet. Maybe we'll need more time to be separate together, to be individuals in love, before we become a unit. Maybe. But maybe not. I can't promise you that either. And you can't promise me anything. Maybe we'll get married, maybe we won't. Maybe it'll be in 3 years, maybe in 6. I don't care. As long as God does what he wants for us, and we do what He wants for us, I know we'll be okay.
I desperately want to marry you and I'm going to try my hardest to make it happen, but I can't promise you it will. But that isn't a bad thing.

After all, I can promise that I am wickedly, pathetically, outrageously in love with you.

Ndimakukonda

mnyamata,
I'm sitting here, face sticky from dried tears, face aching from smiling so hard, staring at the beautiful 2 dollar earrings you bought me at a garage sale today. They were the first things I saw when I walked in and I eyed them and mentioned that I liked them and you just pulled out your wallet and refused to put it back when I kept asking you to. They're cheap, not real diamonds, but I think they're beautiful and I'm glad you didn't listen to me when I told you not to buy them.
Driving home tonight, I was the happiest I've ever been in my life. I felt like a freak, grabbing your arm and shirt and face and smiling until my cheeks started shaking. I am 16 and you are 17 and I am 99 percent positive that I will be marrying you. I am too painfully in love with you to ever recover, so you're stuck with me.

(p.s. - we should've gone halfsies on that typewriter)
ndimakukonda

Mnyamata

I pretended you were laying next to me, stroking my hair back to kiss my face. I smiled contentedly, and on my exhale, remembered you were not here. A physical ache pains my chest. As if heartbreak was literal.
I feel like I'm losing you. You're slipping through my fingers like sand, and I'm trying to catch you with a colander. Soon enough you'll be smoke that I'm trying to catch with my bare hands.
This is the most alone I've felt in a long time. I pray but God is silent.
Tonight will be a long night. If you wake up and read this, know that it's not your fault I'm crying. I'm not sure why I'm crying. I have to many reasons to choose from.
I hope you sleep better than I will.

Ndimakukonda

Mnyamata
I miss you so much.
3 more sleeps and I'll be home.

You know I'm so afraid of sleeping in this room - I've built a nest of blankets around me. I've locked the windows and closed the  door, I've moved things to block the closet doors, I have music and a fan for white noise and I'm still sleeping with a lamp on.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
How am I supposed to be an adult when can barely sleep with the lights off in my OWN room?

If you were here, I could sleep.
Every door and window open, no blankets or pillows and I'd sleep better than I ever have. I'd just hold on to you and dream. I don't why I'm so terrified to sleep alone.

I need you too, you know. I don't say that enough. You say beautiful things like that all the time, and I don't. I want to, I feel the same way, I just don't say then as often as I feel them.
I'm feeling it now.
I need you.
Pray for me.

Ndimakukonda