you, who are reading this right now

i want you to know that i love you.
you, who are reading this right now.
you, specifically.
i love the shape your mouth makes when you smile.
i love the way you choose which shirt you'll wear each day.
i love that your face relaxes ever so slightly and you get a faraway look when you think of that one summer.
(if you think for a minute, you'll know the one.)
i love that you hang in there with your family,
complicated as it sometimes is.
i love that you wonder if you're doing the right thing, the brave thing, the smart thing.
i love the way you get out of bed
and the way you get into bed.
and also
i love the way you blink.

i want you to know that i love you the way i love these things:
driving over water
swimming in water
drinking water
the memory of the superslide on burlap sacks with cousins and dad at the fair
the moon and the sun, at the right times
driving with the windows down
the texture of hay, dirt, rocks, and root vegetables that haven't been washed.

you, who are reading this:
i want you to know that i love you.