Baby.

My boyfriend calls me baby. Just about everyday. It's funny, because I
fall for it. I listen for it, wait for it to fall off his lips, open a text from
him hoping it'll have that one perfect word. It's very unlike me.

The word itself is so unlike me. It's so condescending, so sugary sweet.
So demeaning, and yet I love it so much.

I makes me feel so safe. Like he's taking care of me.
And sometimes I forget how I need to be taken care of, just like everyone else.

So I'm in love. I guess there's no real way to beat around the bush.

It defines every emotion, underlies everything I say. And not always in a good way. In a corny way, sometimes. In the way that every lyric in a love song, I feel like it's about me. In an angry way, sometimes. I get angrier with him than I do anyone else, because he means so much to me. In a sexual way sometimes, how I can't keep my hands off him when he's around. In an anxious way, how I'm scared to lose something I know I'll eventually have to. In a comforting way, like the way I lay with my head on his chest, feeling the warm glow of his neck. In a dizzy way, like I can't even believe when I really look and see how pretty he is.

And I know we're moving fast. But it feels good. I've never moved fast in my life. To pursue it with such abandon, it's new to me. And I'm enjoying the ride.

I know it has to end eventually and I know it will hurt to read this when it does.

But let me say now that I'm lucky. So very lucky. I'm lucky to have my pretty, pretty boy. It doesn't fix everything, it doesn't make life perfect. But loving him adds a sugary base to it. Makes it a little sweeter, a little more bearable. It's a great cushion to lay on.

Like he said one day, it's like being asleep. And more than anything, you just don't want to wake up.