I missed him a little. But only a little. I didn�t get heartsick like I used to long ago. I think it�s because I feel a lot more secure these days. I really love him. And I know for a certainty that he really loves me. As long as I know he�ll be back in good time, I don�t mind having him gone now and then. In fact, I don�t even mind being away. Wherever I go, his heart comes with. Wherever he goes, my heart is with him. So how could I miss him? So I don�t. I didn't. I told him I did, but I was still confused. I just wanted something to do. Someone to talk to, to help me pass the time. I understand better now.
But anyway, that was last night. I went to bed. I slept. Was it restlessly, or did I sleep well? I hardly know now. But I was anxious because I knew he sent me a valentine package.
It�s so indescribably wonderful to have him as my valentine. I care nothing for having a valentine, I care only for him. If it was anyone else, I�d shove them off. Letters and promises and charms and packages and endearments mean nothing to me on their own. They only mean anything because he gives them to me. Because he wants to give them to me. And I see him and I love him. So I love what he creates for me, what he sends me, what he writes for me. It�s only special because it�s from him. Because it's his choice to give.
I tried to find ways to pass my time until that precious package would come. I vacuumed a long time. It helped relieve my boredom and anticipation, but I could only vacuum for so long. When the noise receded I was back to laying on the floor and staring up at the red digital numbers on the clock. Watching it turn so slowly.
Then a paper fell across my face and I remembered that there was a world outside of love and that world included chemistry homework. I went to work. I slaved over those problems. I, in fact, did all forty eight problems, which I was honestly trying to avoid. So suddenly, I was pushing my time. I could have left fifteen minutes ago to check the mail but I was still finishing up chemistry. I really had to at that point. So I finished then practically yanked my sister out the door and down the street. I was bent for that mailbox. I wanted to know so desperately whether his billet doux for me had arrived.
The wind tousled my hair a little as I peered down into the tiny square box which contained the day�s mail. And there it was, nuzzled twixt the junk mail, a little brown envelope, my address and name scrawled on it in his handwriting. I scooped it into my arms, pushed it against my chest and scrambled back to my house as quickly as I could. Once inside, I tumbled down the stairs, into my room, and threw myself across the bed, where I opened the package with trembling fingers.
Oh! What dear, dear handwriting. Red construction paper and black inked poems and little sparkly charms. My fingers shook and I smiled. Oh I smiled so wide for so long. I sat staring at the exquisitely precious papers which had sped across the miles to me, smiling, smiling and smiling like an idiot.
I turned and ran up the stairs. I twirled through the kitchen. And I smiled. I laughed. I kissed the charm about my wrist, once, twice, thrice�
And I smiled.
I smiled.
There was nothing to wait for after that. Nothing to long for. Only his heart�s overflow to rejoice over.
Distance means nothing. I am content.
I smile.