These are the facts.

I’ve heard so many theories, and I’m so sick of them. I don’t care how true they are. Maybe that’s why I hate them, because they hit home.  But I don’t care anymore. Nobody else means anything, anything at all. What he said was honest- you were the one person, the only person, I cared about, and you tossed me to the side like I was nothing. He knows the facts, and he understands. What he says makes sense- I should be able to walk away from you without a second glance. I should be able to occupy myself with  a new boy. I should realize you were worthless. I should maybe even go to such extents as to believe you couldn’t deserve me (ha). Hey- that’s what the facts support.  However, love, as you know, facts aren’t everything. “The arguments against insanity fall through with a soft shirring sound” (Stephen King, if you were wondering.) And that’s what this is, a kind of insanity. Facts are useless in the face of the heart; it's just something you have to understand. Here are the kind of facts I understand- the rush I got when you looked at me, the way I fell in love with you the night you held me under the stars, how it was the first time in my life I felt completely safe, the first time I wasn’t afraid, the first time I started to believe in you. And how about the fact that I miss you so much, it makes me sick, and the fact that your eyes are all I can see when I close mine? The fact that once upon a time, you told me you loved me too, and the fact that your feelings must have been just as hurt as mine, at least for a little while? I think those should maybe be accounted for too.  I don’t know, maybe I do just want control back. I do already know I need to grow up. It’s like I’m five, with my fairy tale complex- always convinced of the identity of my Prince Charming, always trapped in my castle of naivety,  always afraid of the monsters in the closet that come out as soon as it’s dark. I’m different, just like everybody else.  But I love you, I do know that. I love you to the depth and breadth of my soul. I love you with every fiber of my being. Even though you don’t know, I love you. I can’t say it enough. It’s always in my thoughts, just like you are. You are one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever known, inside and out. You have my heart, and you have ever since the first time I saw you- back in seventh grade, when I ran up to you out of nowhere to ask you what your name was. You probably thought I was crazy- a little, mixed up, 13 year old staring up at you with huge blue eyes. I’m not even sure if you remember. But I felt so brave after that. I couldn’t explain it to myself; I could only feel the butterflies in my stomach, a preview of the way you make me feel like I’m not on solid ground anymore. I can’t even begin to explain how much of me you are. It’s like you’re part of my very make up- bound to every cell in my body. And I love you. Your name is my favorite word. I could write you poem after song after story, but there’s nothing I could ever say that could convey to you what I mean. Because at the end of the day, when I’m lying in bed, and I see your face right before I fall asleep, I know. You’re all I could ever need. It doesn’t matter if I had to leave everything else, if I had you, I’d be at home. It’s not that you’re perfect- you have flaws just like everyone else. But to quote Ron Pope, you’re perfect for me. It’s like whatever imperfections you have make you more amazing, because you’re real. You’re not fantasy, you’re not make believe, you aren’t a dream. You’re real, and that’s what’s always made me love you. I can’t stop saying it- I LOVE YOU.And that right there is the only fact that matters to me.