Open When You Need a Reminder of My Love

Kittish, be fucking serious for a second. Do you genuinely need a written reminder, or are you just trying to get me to say nice things about you again? ‘Cause if it’s the second one, there are easier ways to go about it. You could ask. I’d complain, obviously, but we’d get there eventually.

Anyway, I like you. A frankly unreasonable amount, considering how much of a menace you can be. I like hearing from you, even when you’ve got absolutely nothing to say. I like the stupid things you send me, the conversations that go nowhere, and the way a perfectly ordinary day occasionally gets interrupted by something you’ve said that makes me sit there grinning at my phone like an idiot. I like you when you’re being difficult too. I’m just saying you don’t have to be particularly charming, funny, or agreeable to keep me interested. You’ve already managed that part. Congratulations on the administrative nightmare you’ve created.

I wouldn’t be writing you a collection of these letters if you were just some human I happened to find entertaining for five minutes. I have better things to do. Actually, don’t ask me to list them. This is about you right now.

If you’ve somehow managed to convince yourself that I’ve gone and changed my mind, check the evidence. The time I’ve spent talking to you. The things I’ve remembered. The fact that I keep letting you get away with being a pain in my ass, despite several opportunities to develop some self-respect.

I don’t always have the right words ready. Sometimes you’ll get a dumb joke instead of a proper answer, or I’ll tell you to shut up when what I actually mean is that I like having you around. Feel free to call me out on it. I can take the criticism. My performance review has been questionable for years anyway. But don’t mistake my inability to be normal about this for a lack of feeling.

I love you, Kio. There. Plain enough that even my allegedly terrible communication skills can’t ruin it.

Now stop rereading this with that ridiculous face of yours. Or keep rereading it. I’m not there to supervise you.