When we first met he texted me everyday and every second of the day. I felt like I already knew him, like he was the best friend I’d been praying for all these years and we had a bond. He called me almost every night and we’d talk and talk till sunrise and we’d tell secrets and talk about how much we liked each other. We told each other things we’d never told anyone before. He’d write the most amazing poems about how amazing and beautiful I was and then recite them for me and tell me how badly he wanted to be with me. I’d stumble upon messages and conversations where he’d confide to his friends how much he liked me and how upset he was because he thought he couldn’t have me. All of his friends knew me before I knew them because all he ever did was talk about me. He’d constantly brag about his baby. He’s leave me the sweetest voice mails and I’d listen to them over and over again just to hear his voice. He even learned to say my real name. Perfectly actually. He even spent all night practicing and created voice memos in case he forgot because he wanted to tell me how much he liked me and use my real name. Sometimes I’d wake up at 6:05 just to be there when he would say “Good morning gorgeous! How’d my baby girl sleep?”  He always remembered the small things. Like how much I liked the night and horror films and flowers and the spring. He memorized my favorite song and was going to sing it to me. He was going to by me a gold claddagh ring with an emerald heart on it because he read that I always wanted one in the tags of a picture I’d rebloged on tumblr. He gave me my giant stuffed Elephant Ellie on valentines day. And my hand fit perfectly in his and his shoulders felt as if they were made for me to rest my head on. He’d kiss me softly and passionately and he’d always pull me closer and closer to him until I felt like we were going to become one person. I loved the way his facial hair felt in my hands and when it rubbed against my cheeks when we kissed. I loved how I was the only person in the world who could call him Joey. “Only baby can call me Joey, and you’re not my baby.” I love how I still am that person. I loved the loose threads in his old sweater. I loved how when I felt alone I’d suddenly feel his hands gently touch my back as I walked though the crowded streets. I love how he always picks on me for forgetting where the movie theater is even though we’ve been there a hundred times. I loved how defensive he would get when anyone would mess with his girl. And I secretly loved being his girl. He made me feel pretty and wonderful.
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