"You're the cheese to my macaroni"

"Tell me something. Anything. But make it worthwhile."

I remember telling him that one night. It was 3AM, I was in the sixth grade and he was in the seventh. He should've been in the eighth, but his family moved at the beginning of his kindergarten year and he missed the sign up date for his school, so they had him wait a year. I felt special, you know. He was talking to me. To me. I couldn't tell you his eye color. I couldn't tell you the kind of clothes he wore or the way he cut his hair of his hands were soft or large or stubby. I couldn't tell you a thing that counted, a single detail that matter. But he wanted to talk to me and at that point, that was enough.

He told me that he hated carrots.
I felt heartbroken that that's what he wanted to tell me.
Why does it matter if you hate carrots? I wanted to scream at him.
Why does it matter? Why don't I matter? Why can't I matter at every single second of every single day or when I want to matter and why can't you forget me when I don't want to matter because we both know that when we walk by each other in the halls you are not going to matter to me. Why why why why? Why aren't why's ever answered? Why's are the most important questions in life and often the most rhetorical, and it's a sad thing to see if you really think about it.

But sometimes Why's are answered.
Sometimes you get to figure out why you didn't matter when you wanted and why you couldn't step away from it at a moment's notice.
Sometimes your Why becomes unrhetorical.It's never really verbal, but it's enough.

You're why.
You're why it doesn't matter that he hates carrots - because I don't fucking care what he puts in to his stomach as long as it's miles away from me and keeping to it's own phone calls to other girls because I'm busy paying attention to you.

You're why I didn't matter only when I wanted, because people are never as specific as they'd like to be and the only times you matter in the way that you want is when you're absolutely turned off to the individual who cares. At least, usually. But there's special times. There's special people who matter as much as you do, but only to each other. And when you want them to be your best friend and make you laugh instead of batting their eyelashes against yours or quivering beneath your grasp, they some how know. Those are the answer's to the Why's. Those are the people who know when you should matter and when they should matter and that often in life it's not at the same time - but they make it happen any way.

You're why I couldn't simply matter at the distance that I felt comfortable with, because I needed to push away every single individual who crossed my broken path until I felt like walking along with someone. You're why his sideways glances in the halls didn't count and why every crying phone call from every man who wanted a sideways glance from me didn't matter. You're why I was cold and mean and distanced and why I let my own heart break instead of trying to fix it.

You're why why why why. You're the answer to all the why's. You're the important question in life and thankfully not rhetorical. You're the most beautiful thing in the world and make every sad thing go away, even all the unanswered why's. You're everything verbally awesome and everything symbolically wonderful. You're why, what, who, how, when, where. You're what matters and counts and makes sense and confuses me at the exact same time. You're what I miss and tear up over and grin at the thought of being next to me. You're what hurts, you're what sustains. You're why a 3AM, sixth grade conversation never measured up to shit and why I never learned a lesson from the boys that I hurt. You're why I'm stubborn, you're why I was broken. You're why I stopped eating that one year and why swimming stopped counting. You're why I run. You're why I laugh. You're why I love the sun but I love the snow and I'd let my hair be fucked up for the rest of the night if only I could have a dance in the rain. You're why I write and why it counts and why on earth it can sometimes make sense. You're why I'm crying right now, because I never thought that something could be so fucking fulfilling while so far away - even if far away is only a few minutes. You're why your laugh was enough to trip me and falling wasn't good enough, I had to fucking roll.

You're why sad music makes me happy and happy songs make me dance and why angry music always made me want to run. You're why I'm addicted to coffee and lip balm and minty gum. You're what makes me love hygeine and showers and the feeling that you have right after you cry even though I hate the way you feel when you wake up from a nap. You're why I was sick that one time in seventh grade and why by eighth grade I was immune to just about any fucking thing. You're why I wake up and go to school when I have zero missed courses and could take a day or two off. You're why I finally take off when I do. You're why I won the O. Henry award and why the plaque is above my wall despite all the other awards I've won since. You're every trophy and every ribbon and every belt in Karate. You're my favorite flower and my favorite meal and the cutest shape of any cloud I've watched by. You're the waves in the ocean and the scent in the air right before it rains, but only when the air is crisp and everything feels okay.You're the feeling I have after I watch Enchanted and the squeaky sound beneath sneakers that little kids love. You're every drawing I've ever doodled and every story I've ever kept. You're all the ideas inside of me, you're why I bite my nails and the feeling that I get when I stretch before a work out. You're the wonderful release of cracking a knuckle, as mundane as eating with a spoon. You're as extraordinary as building the houses on every mission trip that I've ever taken and all the problems that I face in Algebra courses. You're the frustration that I find in Chemistry and the exhiliration that I find in Government. You're why this didn't turn out to be the simple paragraph that it was supposed to be. You're why Happy Feet wasn't stupid when it talked about a heart song and you're the only person who will know how important that is without even having seen the movie. You're why I want a family and why I think I could be happy. You're why the words keep coming and the tears keep rolling and I miss you so fucking much but I've never been as happy. You're why I was angry and why I was sad and every crack in my heart and every single laugh I've ever experienced. You're the steps that I take and the octive that rises my voice when things upset me. You're my valentine in mid-June and my angel when everything feels like it's six feet under. You're the past week and the rest of our lives in the tiniest, greatest package I never saw coming. You're my Richard Gere and Tom Hanks and Ryan Gosling and every actor who ever portrayed the feeling of love, but you're better because this is truer and we are better and we don't have a period where credits roll and people file out because the story has ended. You're the flowers outside my window and the sound of my morning bagel popping up. You're the first snow of the year in winter and the first drop of rain after a summer-long drought. You're the boat beneath me that allows me through the water and the warm sun I bathe in when there's nothing left for comfort. You're the feeling of confidence when a haircut comes out great and the insecurity that comes with being human. You're the feeling of a basketball game when you're favorite team has won and the flutter in your heart when your favorite band takes the stage. You're the scent of my favorite University and my favorite season. You're my favorite color, my favorite song, my only choice and the best thing that's ever happened to me. You're every thing. You're everything.

You're my Christmas, my gift from Christ when the road to Him was far too foggy and I didn't even realize it. You're the man that I am hopelessly and carelessly and wonderfully, vulnerably in love with. So tell me something. Tell me anything. You're more than worthwhile.

The entire point of this was to tell you that I want to give you late nights and horror films. Hot chocolate, forehead kisses, fingers through your hair and cheesy pictures with santa clause. Aimless "I love you"s, and even more aimless drives. You've got my whole heart and soul. I want to give you the stars and the moon, soft touches and playful bites and less-than-tender scratches with my nails while arching my frame above you in your bed. I want restless nights and stupid fights that're solved with teary kisses, and wandering hands once we've made up; heavy sighs and happy tears and dozens of years with a bunch of time simply to repeat.