You were next to me and we'd just woken up and I wanted to document the things I felt laying next to you in the morning. You are so grumpy but I don't mind because I'm the opposite and no matter how much my lungs hurts and my body aches and no matter how little good 7 hours of sleep has done me, my motor still works and my mind is still vibrant. I got us cinnamon rolls and orange juice and brought you a tray in bed and you were too groggy to thank me so you just giggled. I think we both thought it was funny because you function miserably until you get out of the bed.  (That's you're butt in the background)
I've been looking forward a lot lately, forward to seeing you, forward to your breaks, forward to getting my GED, forward to Sasquatch!, forward to life changing drug.

I want to be able to type out how the un-insidious things turned out to be soon, I want to be able to say I trust you again after feeling a lot of bad things, we've just got a lot that was handed to us for some reason. If anyone can do it, it's us.

Sometimes at the end of the night I am just scared from movies like Blue Valentine, I worry about falling out of love when I never worried about falling in love in the first place. I just want us to be ok, and I want to be able to someday celebrate the amount of time I've gone without a big "X" in my journal to describe the way I feel when you're not around.  (I say this because of the time we talked about how Teddy Roosevelt loved his wife, and how when she died on February 14, 1884, his only journal entry was a large "X" and then the words "The light has gone out of my life".) (I imagine that is how I will feel when we have to quit being what we are to each other)

The light is still in my life