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Meow

The document narrates a heartfelt account of a romantic relationship that blossomed between two individuals from September 2 to September 12, 2024. It captures their emotional experiences, expressions of love, and the significance of their connection amidst everyday moments. The author reflects on the beauty of love, vulnerability, and the joy of being alive and in love at a young age.

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6 views

Meow

The document narrates a heartfelt account of a romantic relationship that blossomed between two individuals from September 2 to September 12, 2024. It captures their emotional experiences, expressions of love, and the significance of their connection amidst everyday moments. The author reflects on the beauty of love, vulnerability, and the joy of being alive and in love at a young age.

Uploaded by

starsncars
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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On Monday, September 2, 2024, Tethys and Dione transit Saturn, 2 of its 146 moons.

On
Monday, September 2, 2024, you asked me if you could be my girlfriend. I don’t know at what
degree the stars aligned, I don’t know how astral logic let our paths cross, I don’t know which
shooting star granted my wish, but I know the unexplainable stellar daze I feel when I look at
you. The chords coming from your guitar and fingers, sweetly playing nothing by Bruno Major.
My eyes glossing over the led etched onto thin surfaces of lined paper. The words written,
silently said, but loudly meant. For once, everything made sense despite the stars, the tears, and
the past pain. For once, all my whys were answered. You! :)

On Wednesday, September 3, 2024, I saw you cry for the first time. Your glassy eyes had
the same circular shine coming from your ceiling light, the same shine I engraved in my head
when we were cuddling, looking at each other as if the world around us was no longer extant.
You’re beautiful. You’re strong. You’re what I want to take care of and listen to no matter what.
You’re who I admire for not only surviving, but still choosing to live. You’re you, you’re enough
and always will be enough.

On Thursday, September 4, 2024 your hands traced my back, spelling out the words “i
love you” the same day, we sat outside of your highschool gym together. A quiet sunset met us.
Your voice met my ears again. Your touch and mine. The past disappeared and the future turned
notional. We were the only ones that existed, we were the only people that mattered. I love you
too.

On Friday, September 6, 2024, you told me you love me. It was accidental, but you meant
it. Maybe accidents are meant to happen. Maybe intention is chance by destiny, or a prospect of
fate. I love you on purpose, and by accident. I didn't mean to, but I feel like I was meant to.

On Saturday, September 7, 2024, our i love you’s flooded out of our heads and verbally
converged the world. We joked around about fitting the lesbian stereotype of moving too fast.
Bigger than societal timelines and movie tropes, expressing our love was more significant than
collective norms.
You showed me you accept and love every part of me, even the ones I struggle facing.
“we’re human and 15”
And I fell more in love with you. I didn't know it was possible, I didn’t know until I met
you. In my head, our hands are still interlocked and I let your being imprint mine.
We had phở in your kitchen, your mom, dad, and us conversing miscellaneously. You
held my hand and I was alive. For an hour, the universe permitted me to experience family. I
came home to the smell of laundry and I was alive, nowise a mere residue of survival. I’m alive
and in love with you. I'm 15, human, living and in love.

On Sunday, September 8, 2024, I was young again. You called me baby and I felt the love
I’ve always yearned for. The world was pure, I was innocent and unruined. Words were meant as
said, the universe made sense every time the syllables left your larynx. I love you and i’ll say it as
much as you want to hear it, I mean it every time.

On Tuesday, September 10, 2024, you told me about the first time you said I love you. An
unconscious vale unheard over a quick phone call on August 27. Despite the noise muting you,
I’ve always heard you. I heard your I love you’s from how your skin brushes mine, the way your
eyes cherished me, the truths of infatuation you said. Your I love you’s were heard from the gifts
you proffered, the time you devoted, the endeavor offered. I know, even when I don’t hear it. My
gratitude stretches infinitely for the blessing of love you provide me. I pray that I provide you
the same sense of security, my love for you is just as intense.

September 12, 2024. I’m in the backseat of your car, holding your hand. A trip to
McDonalds after your volleyball game. The vehicle driving away from the pole-mounted lights
in your highschool parking lot and the night’s ill-lit nature, something about the scene created a
fuzzy feeling. The warmth of your stretched touch mixed with my self-denial of exhaustion
blanketed my heart. A trip to McDonalds with my girlfriend, your hand intertwined with mine,
us in your mom’s car. Never have I ever felt so overwhelmingly thankful for a mundane blessing.
Debatably prosaic, love is the only thing my mind sculpted from tonight.

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