JulieLeung.com: a life told in tidepools

We’re driving for miles tonight on the freeway in the dark. You’re at the wheel. I’m sitting beside you. I’m looking at you. The lights flit across your face catching your profile, the corner of your brow, highlighting your eye, the angle of your face.

We’ve got three sleepy kids, slumping in their car seats. You’re tired. It’s late.
But looking at you I become an intoxicated teenager. The crazy kid I never was. This girl was hiding somewhere within me all along, waiting for you.

Looking at you, there’s a feeling, a depth, that floods me, so strong I almost can’t control it. A feeling stoked by twelve years together. It’s a feeling of infatuation. Attraction. Completion.

I want to open the window and yell it into the night.
I want to scream it to the universe.
I want to say it so everyone can hear.
I want to whisper it to you when no one else is around.
I’ll say it softly in the silence.
Let it linger in your ear:
I love you.