**I am apologizing inadvance. This post is meant for just one reader. If, to anyone else, it seems lousy and full of things that would otherwise be spelled with a lot of L’s, O’s,V’s and E’s, you can stop here.

It wasn’t John Lennon’sbirthday. Or Leon Russel’s. In fact, to my knowledge, it wasn’t any specific celebration of my greatest musical influences, but I heard every song playing at once in my head on that day. Anyone who knows me can vouch for my having to signify dates with rock legend’s birthdays. But this was an ordinary day.

Sometimes love hits you like that. And sometimes it’s a slow burning fire. Either way, you stand there, not knowing whether to shake off the impact or continue to be mesmerizedby the flames. As I write this, I am suffering- and for the very first time-from writer’s block.

You do this to me, so I will do this for you.

There have been songs that, upon hearing them, bring me back to places I have never been with you. Places I may never go, for fear that I will look for you on a park bench before my mouth tells my mind to kindly let my heart down easily when I realize it is just me. Places we may not ever go, but can see so clearly in my mind, while you pull me close and place your hands on my face, more for the romantic appeal than to keep my cheeks warm. Because you do these things for me. You are this way with me, and though it has been such a long time, I am sure you will remember that you can fall in love with me as many times as you allow yourself.

I vow to myself on long runs to tell you all of the things I’ve never said before, but then I remember that we use the same words. You don’t take them out of my mouth, as the old cliché affirms. You read them in my eyes and speak them one by one, as though each syllable deserves its place between us, as we breathe each other in. There are song lyrics I hear and on so many occasions I wish I could compile Etta James, Jeff Buckley, and Rita Coolidge just to make you a lyrical parfait.

Ray Lamontagne would serve as the proverbial cherry on top, saving the best for last.

Is that what we are doing? Is that what we did? Are supposed to do? I have waited for this feeling to come back to me, for you to come back for me. If you are half way there, can I race you to the finish? I don’t know if we will ever be finished, but I am definitely complete.

You are like the sweater I wear around my house, knowing that if I had to part with it even just to throw it in the washing machine, I would feel as though a limb were missing.I haven’t had this sweater very long compared to, say, certain pairs of socks I haven’t gotten around to replacing. I just don’t want anything else wrapped around my skin.

I have missed you for so long, that it isn’t any wonder to me why I can think of a countless number of reasons why. I want to ride on the train with you for hours, forgetting where we are going because we are right here. I want to watch you break a twenty dollar bill at a convenience store because you know a street dweller is going to ask you for a dollar very soon. I want to crawl into our bed while you are reading up on the latest who-knows-what-because-I-can’t-understand-it-and-I’d-rather-you-put-it-down-and-pick-me-up-instead.I need to eat ice cream with you, out of the same bowl. I want to argue with you,so we can make up. I want to run with you, for you, to you. How can we let this go, if we’re already holding on to it? I can’t imagine not having you in my life, because I remember what it was like.

We will see this through.Because this wasn’t Joe Cocker or Gregg Allman’s birthday. It was a day that became ours, the beginning of the unknown and I know it is equal parts confusing and crazy, whimsical and wonderful, exhilarating and emotional, it is still you and me. We are reckless, admittedly, and half way to crashing into each other. And when I step out into your town, I hope you will take a leap of faith into mine.

You can show me around; I will show you the way.