I have never met a man like you, John Abrena. In the (almost) three years of knowing you, I could never in fact say that I “know” you. For, John Abrena, one minute you’re quiet and mulling; pondering about life and how you live. The next, it is like you swallowed a fog horn and decided to warn the world about an approaching iceberg.
I could never tell, John Abrena, what you are thinking. Despite your nature and tendency to be LOUD, your thoughts keep me and everyone around you guessing. I never know what to expect next, yet I have full confidence in you. You keep us on our toes, John Abrena, and that is quite a feat.
John Abrena, you are stubborn to the core. I realized over time that you are like that because you are a principled man. You have beliefs, and you do not wish to be trampled upon. Principled, yes, yet you bent rules for me, John Abrena. Sometimes, I ask you in my head, “Why me?” You could’ve easily deleted me from your personal space and disappear without a trace. You could’ve done it, yet you didn’t. I am thankful, John Abrena, for that. It was partly because of your stubbornness that we are here; I should at least acknowledge that.
I can’t begin to describe what I feel for you, John Abrena. You make me feel so many things, and at many times all at once. There is indeed happiness, but you make me scared too. When I see you, John Abrena, in the morning you make me feel calm (that you’re snoring so deeply) and excited (to start the day with you again). When I am with you, John Abrena, I am lost in you and found within you. You are my walking oxymoron which sounds moronic but true. I feel safe in a way that I’ve never known, but in danger too.
You’re new to me, John Abrena. Among all the people I’ve been with, friends, family, acquaintances and enemies included, you are very new to me. You fascinate me. Nothing quite captured my attention like your mere presence. My mind is your prisoner, and you own my heart.
John Abrena, you brought my dead shell back to life. Way before, way back, back when we were just friends. You touched a thread in my life and decided to spin your own weave unto it. Since then, we became inseparable in thought and soul.
I know I’m rambling, John Abrena, baring my soul here. I tend to do that sometimes, and it gets worse when it’s about you. It’s probably because you drive me crazy. I don’t know, John Abrena, how and why I fell for such a difficult person like you. You can be so annoying sometimes, so much so that you bring me to tears. You are unpredictable yet marvelously certain. I don’t always understand how your mind works, John Abrena, but I do my best to always understand you.
I cried so many times for you, John Abrena, so many, many times. Laughter. Sadness. Delight. Guilt. Happiness. Tranquility. For all these emotions, and so many more. John Abrena, I don’t think I have shed these many tears for one man.
There is not an ounce of perfection in you, John Abrena. And I like it that way. I like your flaws. I like how you mispronounce words sometimes, how you fumble and stammer and stutter looking for the right ones to say and the right ways to say them. When you sleep on your side, I like to play with the small of your back, admiring the deep valley in between. I like the tufts of hair you forget to shave and the way you smell when you haven’t showered in a while. That’s why I sniff you a lot.
I enjoy seeing you insecure and vulnerable, John Abrena, on the very rare instances when you show them. I like to watch red steam light up your cheeks, a spreading mist of shame when you think you’ve done something unacceptable like missing a step on the stairs or not having the perfect answer to something I’ve said. It’s like you honestly don’t know how wonderful you are, it’s like you have no idea.
The burns, the scars, the black and blues on your face, body, heart: I want to know their stories, John Abrena. I want to know what hurt you, who hurt you, how bad the damage is. I like your hard, ugly toenails and the layer of fat that lines your belly, the soft parts you try to hide. It’s okay to be soft, sometimes.
John Abrena, I appreciate your ability to get inappropriately angry as much as I appreciate your willingness to apologize afterward. I like how your passion manifests unpredictably and uncontrollably, how your feelings cannot be caged or concealed, how you’re incapable of apathy. I like how you can easily destroy anything you wish, and how you refrain yourself from doing that to me.
Your flaws single you out, set you apart, make you different from the rest, and thank God. I don’t just put up with settle for accept your blemishes, I like them. I like them because they make you, John Abrena, human. Humans are easier to love than photographs and illusions and ideals; humans fit more easily between arms and between legs; humans are welcome to their imperfections because if there’s one thing humans can do perfectly, it’s love. Humans can love, they can do it flawlessly.
And no matter how many times you tell me that I’m like all of them, John Abrena, I will still be here. I highly dislike being compared, you see. I feel like a used rag (unwashed and filthy) when you say that to me. That’s why, every day, I strive to make you know and feel that no, no matter how much I may seem to be like all of them, I am not.
I say a lot of things, John Abrena. But even if you just decide to scroll down to this last part, just know this:
I love you, John Abrena.